


Stronger Than Ever

by Clicker



Series: Lannister's Pride [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:55:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 31,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24282439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clicker/pseuds/Clicker
Relationships: Joffrey Baratheon/Reader, Jon Snow/Reader
Series: Lannister's Pride [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1752901
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

Gold stitching. The thread tied to the eye of the needle the princess wielded. The silk threading of the blanket that was trapped in Y/n’s hoop made way for the blade of the needle. Letting an ornate pattern to be stitched into the white silk.

The Lady Sansa stitched into her own white silk, with a silver thread. And Miza as well, with a yellow piece of silk, and bronze colored thread.

Lannister

Stark

Martell.

The silence was consuming. Cersei had taken Lucia for the morning. Letting the girls sit in the quiet and stitch, the light filtering into red, black and gold from her stained glass door.

Y/n had become heavy with her unborn child. She could no longer hide it. She felt as though she could burst at the seams at any moment. She was farther along than Lollys Stokeworth, she was already large, it was hard to imagine that Y/n was even larger.

No one knew. Not a single soul could ever know. Only Miza could. She could never tell Sansa who the father was. She could never tell her mother, or grandfather. But perhaps Tywin could dig his claws into Joffrey’s back to make him stop.

No, it’s the female lions who are the hunters. She thought. I have to be the strong one. For my children, for Sansa.

“She’s pretty” Y/n broke the silence suddenly, continuing to stitch as though she hadn’t said a thing.

Both Miza and Sansa looked up from their hoops, sharing a curious look before looking to the golden haired girl.

“Who is, your highness?” Sansa asked.

Y/n stopped stitching and smile, looking up from her lion, and right at Sansa. “Don’t you think Margaery is pretty?”

Both Miza and Sansa smiled at that, but it was Sansa and Y/n who started laughing. The relief that Sansa would no longer be the one to marry Joffrey. No longer having to be the one having to dread being in his bed.

“She seems to have received her looks from her mother. A shame, her hair will be Targaryen Silver before she turns forty.” Miza chipped in, a small smile on her face.

This made Y/n and Sansa laugh even harder. Lady Alerie was a beautiful woman, but her hair had reportedly gone silver before she turned thirty.

Y/n’s grandfather had begun to lose his hair before she was born, but he hadn’t ever gone grey, despite all the amounts of stress being hand of the king had put him under when the Mad King still sat on the throne.

“What a shame.” Y/n’s laugher died down when she heard a knock at the door. Setting the hoop down, Miza pulled Y/n to her feet so she could waddle herself to the door.

Y/n made her way to the door, a hand on her lower back, the other cupped over her stomach.

She pulled the handle, the hinges squeaking in protest as the door opened to reveal a steward who often delivered messages through the castle for the Tyrells.

“Your highness. The Lady Olenna would like to know if you could pay her a visit.” He bowed to her gently.

Y/n looked at him, seeing his pale blue eyes look over her stomach. “Is anyone else going to be there?” She questioned.

He nodded, “The lady Margaery and the Lady Janna Fossoway.”

“I’ll get my coat, and I’ll be in the garden shortly.-” She excused, turning to go get her cloak from the wardrobe.

“Your highness, might I escort you?” He questioned. Pale blue eyes meeting her emerald eyes.

She didn’t quite know what to say. Turning her gaze to Miza and Sansa. Miza who glared at the steward, like she did at any stranger who came to the princess’s door.

“What is you name?” Miza questioned, the yellow chiffon of her dress moving as she turned to face him.

“Addam, my lady.”

“Miza, stand down.” Y/n joked, a kind smile on her face. “It’s all right, I’ll be back after.” She insisted, pulling the collar of her cloak around her neck, buttoning it right under her jaw.

“Addam, what’s your family name?”

He seemed hesitant to answer, his hands behind his back as he studied the three females in the room who watched him carefully.

“My father’s name was Velaryon. Monford is my brother.”

Y/n smiled “The old, the true, the brave.” she recited the words as though they were holy verses that she had sung all her life.

He smiled at that, a small nod. “Yes, your highness.”

Y/n nodded as well, “Surely, you’re not a traitor as your brother is? I don’t believe my brother would allow you into the castle unless you’ve proven your worth?”

He went flush at the accusation. “I never met my brother. I was never raised with my brothers. My father went on a trip to the reach and met my mother, I was born there. She was in the service of Lady Olenna.”

Y/n nodded in satisfaction at his response. “Well, now that we know you’re not a traitor, we can go to the gardens.” She said smoothly, going to Sansa, leaving a gentle kiss to her hair. “Do finish your stitching, I would love to see how far you can get once I get back.” She said with a kind smile, Sansa giving her a wide one, her teeth showing as Y/n left with the steward.

He was much taller than her, but not much older. Perhaps a few years, since he had the subtle stubble growing on his cheeks. He had auburn hair, and pale flushed skin.

Y/n hooked their arms together while they walked, a hand still laying protecting over her outwardly curved stomach.

“Tell me, why does the Lady Olenna want to see me?” She questioned, letting him guide her through the halls.

“I don’t know Your Highness. All I do know is that she has taken great interest in you, due to Lord Baelish’s influence in Highgarden.” He responded simply.

“Lord Baelish? Why would he have been talking about me? I rarely ever let him in the same room as me? And when I do, I don’t ever speak to him.”

Addam stopped in the middle of the hallway, pulling away from her grasp to stare down at her, “Baelish and Varys have their ways to get information-”

“And I have mine. Don’t underestimate a Lannister, Addam. The master of whispers doesn’t scare me, nor does the master of coin. One put the throne into crippling debt, and the other does nothing to help the kingdoms.”

Addam and Y/n held eye contact before he looked down the hall, “He was right about one thing.” He muttered.

“What would that be?”

He turned his gaze back to her. “You’re not afraid of much.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Take her” Cersei insisted, handing Lucia over to Y/n, Her sleepy form slumping over Y/n shoulder. “I must go speak with your grandfather, and he doesn’t seem very fond of her.”

Y/n only nodded, watching Cersei walk away from her.

“Princess, we must go.” Addam insisted, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder blade, guiding her to the gardens yet again.

The sun was shining, casting a welcoming warmth through Y/n’s skin. Unlike just weeks before when Margaery had been brought to King’s Landing. She was happily welcomed by everyone in the city, men and women holding their children up for her to bless them, and everyone cheering for her.

Y/n would never be welcomed in any place so warmly. Nowhere but the gardens. The gardens were always warm, being so high up, no trees could block the sun from reaching them. But the godwood did that, always casting a cold breeze onto Y/n’s cheeks. Making her shiver.

“The Lady Margaery is eager to meet you, as well as Lady Sansa later tonight.” Addam told her, before pulling her disturbingly close. “Be careful with the Tyrells, I trust them, but they are no different than your family. They are the Lannisters, but with a prosperous field and a yellow rose instead of a hopeless field of crimson and a yellow lion.” He warned, getting to a point in the journey to the ladies where he stopped, taking a hand that rested on Lucia’s back, giving her knuckles a gentle kiss. “May the gods let you walk on a golden path.” He mumbled to her, taking his leave back down the stone path into the castle.

Y/n turned to watch him leave, the skirt and end of her cloak spinning over dramatically as she did so. The lightness of the fabric being carried like dead leaves through the wind in the fall.

“What a strange man you are, Addam Flowers.” She mumbled, a smile playing at the corners of her lips so faintly that you could barely see it.

“Princess,” A voice exclaimed from behind her.

Startled, Y/n turned around to see Margaery standing a few feet away. Y/n went to courtesy, but the two soft, uncalloused hands that belonged to the soon-to-be queen gently grabbed Y/n’s arms. “Please, you don’t have to do that.” She insisted.

Margaery was older than Y/n by two years. And by all accounts, was just as kind as she was beautiful.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Y/n smiled adjusting her grip on Lucia.

“Oh, and that must be Lucia!” Margaery exclaimed happily, tilting her head, looking at the young infant who grumbled from new position, her hand stuck.

Y/n chuckled and nodded, grabbing Luci’s hand, fixing what was irritating her. “It is.” she smiled.

“Well, we’ve heard much about you, come, I’d be honored for you to meet my family.” Margaery had a kind smile, a smile that reminded Y/n of the smile Cersei used to give her whenever she came back from sword lessons with Jaime. The scuffs on her knees and hands always made Cersei proud. Not because she was happy to see that she got knocked around, but that even when she came back with such harsh scuffs, Y/n always wanted to go for longer.

Y/n returned Margaery’s smile, following her to a large table that had often been used for Y/n’s name day, which was always kept to a minimum ever since her third name day when she had a breakdown from the amount of people there.

Lady Alerie was the first one to see Y/n, and the first one to give her a smile.

Margaery introduced Y/n to everyone there, children close to Sansa’s age. She introduced Garlan’s wife, Lady Leonette, as well as her aunt Lady Janna, sister to Lord Mace Tyrell. The last was an old white haired woman who sat at what could be considered the head of the table. Lady Olenna, who smelled of freshly made rosewater.

“Kiss me, child.” Lady Olenna said, motioning to her cheek. With some difficulty, Y/n bent over, planting a faint kiss onto the Lady’s cheek.

“Sit, please, Princess.” Lady Alerie gestured to the empty seat across from herself.

Y/n smiled and took the seat, Margaery helping her all the way, a hand on her upper back and a gentle hand keeping Lucia’s bottom steady.

“Thank you,” Y/n smiled to Margaery.

It had been complicated to try and sit. More complicated than it had been with Lucia, and her pregnancy with her, wasn’t all that long ago. Less than two years. But that worried Y/n, as Lucia hadn’t said her first word yet, which according to every maester in the Red Keep, wasn’t normal.

Starks, Quick tempers, slow minds.

What a stupid saying. Yet, it held true with Luci. She was quick to get fussy, and was a slow learner, but she learned. Y/n had to believe that by Luci’s first name day, she’d say her first word.

“It’s kind of you to join us, Princess.”

“Y/n is fine, Lady Olenna. I couldn’t possibly refuse the grandmother of the future queen.” Y/n explained, Setting Lucia in her lap.

“Babababa” Lucia babbled, leaning against Y/n’s chest and stomach, her small hands grabbing a fist full of Y/n’s sleeve.

Lady Alerie smiled at Lucia, the wrinkles by her eyes crinkling up. “Sweet little thing, isn’t she?”

Y/n nodded in agreement. “The best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“We’re… deeply sorry for your losses. Your father, then… your uncle” Lady Janna tried to find the right words, to show she felt bad for Y/n. To show that she truly felt for the poor girl.

“It’s all right. I loved my uncle, he was my best friend, but… I fear he wasn’t always the brightest. He acted on impulse, and if his impulse was to try and become king, that’s what he would do.”

Lady Olenna gave a curt nod “Yes, he believed he’d be a better king because he dressed nicer than anyone else, and bathed in the finest oils.”

“The sage oil was my favorite. He gave me a package of it for my thirteenth name day… it was the last thing he ever gave me. And he’d come to my room with a pie and the package before sunrise… he always did that. He always wanted to make sure that I was happy as could be during my day. He’d always be the one to escort me to the sept, every maiden’s day.”

“He spoke fondly of you, very often. You were the apple of Renly Baratheon’s eye. He told me once, that if he were never to have children, he’d have made you heir to Storm’s End… He did write that down. So I suppose… You are Lady Baratheon of Storm’s End?”

This caught y/n’s attention. She’d never been told this. “Me? His heir?”

Margaery nodded. “Gods, he loved you so, I believe he saw you as a daughter. Through our months of marriage, he had an entire chest full of things he wanted to give to you. He said he’d give them all to you once he became king and made you his heir not only to Storm’s End but to the throne.”

Y/n had never known that Renly thought of her like a daughter. He wasn’t even old enough to be her father. She didn’t even think he wanted much to do with her when he fled the city with Ser Loras.

She thought he’d abandoned her. But it was quite the opposite, wasn’t it?

“I will have the chest brought to your bedchambers, I’m sure you’ll want to see it.”

Y/n nodded, an appreciative smile on her face as Lucia leaned her head into the crook of Y/n’s arm, looking up at the top of the gazebo they were under.

Y/n hadn’t realized that the other women had been distracted by Olenna’s jester, only until Olenna put her freckled, gaunt hand on Y/n’s wrist did she realize her surroundings.

“I want you to tell us the truth of this royal brother of yours, this Joffrey.” Y/n developed a lump in her throat. Varys’s little birds weren’t here, not that she knew all of them, but she knew most of them. And at the age of ten, she’d scared one so much so that they ran to Varys to tell them. Y/n told Varys that the next time she caught one of his spies she’d duel them.

Y/n was much like her grandfather, she never made an idle promise. If she caught one of the spies watching her or someone she spoke to, she’d duel them, and she’d win, no doubt.

He’d told all of them to never watch Y/n ever again. That’s not what Y/n was afraid of. She was afraid of Olenna’s flock telling others of what she wanted to say.

“Well? Come on now girl, we know you have plenty to say, possibly more than Lady Sansa. After all, you grew up with him. “ Olenna shrugged

“Can your women keep whatever they hear under wraps?”

Olenna smiled at that, and nodded “I’ll make sure of it.”

Tears were scratching at Y/n’s eyes, the thought of all Joffrey had done. To Ned, Sansa, Herself.

“His Grace is the cruelest person I’ve ever met. He promised Sansa he would have mercy, then he cut her father’s head off, and called that mercy. He forced himself on me on the morning of his name day, when the comet was still in the sky. He told me he needed and heir, and that I had proven myself fertile. I tried to prevent it, every time he left my bedchambers. But that didn’t work. Obviously.” Y/n sobbed quietly.

“Gods.” Margaery mumbled. “You poor thing.

“He’s beaten Sansa. Had a knight, a man sworn to protect the innocent, take the flat side of a sword to her thighs. He made her look at her father’s head on a spike.”

Olenna nodded “Go, all of you, I must speak to the princess alone.”

Margaery looked as if she felt ill by what Y/n had told her. But she deserved to know the truth of Joffrey’s personality. Of what he’d do to her.

The jester led them all away, and even Margaery followed after, but not before giving a gentle squeeze to Y/n’s shoulder.

“How do you feel for the Stark girl?” Olenna questioned, handing her a glass of wine.

“I love that girl, she’s sweet, and caring, and Joffrey doesn’t deserve her or Margaery. I’d do anything for her.”

Olenna hummed in response. “I have a proposition.”

“Oh, and what would that be?” Y/n sipped from her glass as Olenna plucked a grape from it’s intertwined family of grapes.

“Have you noticed that lovely hairnet Sansa loves so much? The amethyst one?”

“It’s lovely. Such dark amethysts, I’m jealous.” Y/n said sincerely. It was a beautiful hair net, and it clashed with Sansa’s hair perfectly. Purple against red.

“What if I told you it wasn’t amethysts, but crystallized poison?”

Y/n sat up straight in her chair, eyes wide at the sudden realization. Poisons often came in strange colors. Red, black, purple, orange, pink.

“What kind of poison?”

“The Strangler.” Y/n rested a gentle hand on Lucia’s torso, keeping her up as she kept trying to find a comfortable position

“For Joffrey.”

“Clever girl, I suppose the rumors about you are true. How would you feel, if at my granddaughter’s wedding, we poison your bastard brother?”

Y/n didn’t think she could smile so largely as she could. “That sounds like a deal we can strike.”

“And another thing, I want to marry Sansa, to my oldest grandson, Willas. He’s a bit older than her, but he’s a kind man, and would keep her well loved, fed and she’d be absolutely smothered with gowns laced in gold threads, and jewels. What do you think?”

“Sansa needs all the love she can get, after of the hate she’s gotten, she needs someone to love her like Joffrey should have. Someone who won’t have a knight beat her on the thighs, or rip her bodice off of her. She needs a man who will treat her as if she is his queen. Just like it is said my grandfather treated my grandmother. He ruled the seven kingdoms for King Aerys, but, it was Joanna Lannister who ruled him.”

“Some can say that you’ve had Tywin Lannister wrapped around your finger since the day he held you. A more level headed daughter than the one who bore you.”

“I had Renly wrapped around my finger, and I didn’t even realize it. I rule Joffrey, and I can rule my grandfather, it will be hard, but I can do it.”


	3. Chapter 3

The chest was majestic, fit for a King’s bedchambers. So much so that it felt out of place in Y/n’s room.

It was like a treasure chest that pirates would steal from rich lords and ladies who dared to sail the sea. Y/n wondered if the contents were different, or matched up with the gold details of the chest’s exterior.

Y/n’s hands reached for the latches, flipping them open, lifting the lid up to expose beautiful silks to the sunlight that loved to find its way it’s Y/n’s room. Y/n lifted the yellow silk up only to lift an entire gown up. A black steel collar that the sleeves dropped off of. “Pretty.” She smiled to herself. Holding it up to the light, watching as the gold fabric caught the light. Placing the gown down on the mattress she went through the dresses. One was white, with gold accents, and an ivory lace up bodice with red ribbons to lace it up. The last one was a light blue one. That’s all it was. A flowy blue dress, no accents but the lace up back. The eyelets were a gentle silver, with white ribbons to secure the bodice.

Y/n was even more shocked to see what was at the bottom of the chest. A crown of gold. Roses and leaves made of gold, and cords of gold with fake thornes to complete the look, on the base, there were antlers carved into the gold, that’s where the roses sprouted off from.

Shoulder plates of gold, with a white cloak to attach to it. A gold hairpin in the shape of antlers with a singular black onyx stone shaped as the stag’s head.

A gorget, that came to a soft ending, where antlers started, and what looked like claw marks right at the shoulder.

A wooden rose, painted yellow, and a wooden lion and stag. Toys, for Lucia, and two silk blankets, one was gold, one was black.

And the last few things were things she’d always have to hide away. A necklace with black onyx stones, a bracelet in the same style, a ring, as well as a pair of earrings, matching the hairpin. Joffrey would question how she’d gotten a matching set of jewelry. She could never wear it all at once.

The very last thing, was a dagger. The blade, made of a crystal. Clear crystal, holding it against her hand, she could see her fingers through the blade. The hilt was wrapped in a cream colored leather.

Renly had always showered her in gifts, but often it was in toys, or new dresses. She’d never really been given jewellery by anyone but her grandfather, who showered her in gold necklaces with emerald stones. She’d gotten a hairpin from Renly before, but never such a set like this one. And he’d never once given her a weapon. No, that was Tyrion’s job, it seemed.

•••

“Baby, look at this one,” Y/n encouraged, holding out the wooden rose for Lucia. Her chubby hands grabbing at the painted wood. Lucia babbled on, her hands touching the petals, trying to pick it up out of Y/n’s hands. “Yeah, it’s pretty, it’s from great uncle Renly. He would have loved you.” She said happily, brushing Lucia’s curls back.

Y/n knew what was happening. She’d felt it with Lucia. Just hours before she was born. But Y/n was ready to have a child in her arms that wasn’t Jon’s. She remembered the smiles he gave her when their eyes met from across the courtyard of Winterfell. Lucia had his smile, and his eyes, but … different at the same time. Brighter, more happy than Jon’s.

“Lucia, I was thinking, maybe if you have a little brother, we name him Tybolt. If you have a little sister, Cerelle.” She sighed slightly, twirling the short curls on Lucia’s head around her index finger. The antler ring around her center finger. 

Lucia cooed, turning her head to look up at Y/n, a bright smile coming onto her face, Jon’s smile. Y/n smiled back, placing the toy down on the bed, picking Lucia up so her feet were on Y/n’s thighs. “My whole heart.” Y/n said happily, pulling Lucia into an embrace. An uncomfortable one due to her swollen stomach.

“Your Highness, the King.” Miza spoke, opening the door to let Joffrey in. He looked like a king, even if he was really only a boy.

Y/n stood, holding Lucia to her hip, a protective hand on her stomach. “Your Grace.” She greeted, giving a courtesy that their mother would be ashamed of.

“Sister… tell me what the maesters say about how much longer you have?”

Y/n wanted to scoff at that, to laugh at him and tell him it didn’t matter, that she was surely going to have their child within the next hours. “Not long at all. Within a few hours I believe.” She informed, hefting Lucia up on her hip, planting a loving kiss on her head.

He nodded, leaving as soon as he’d gotten his answer. “Prick.” She murmured to herself, turning to Miza who closed the door after Joffrey. “Miza, can you grab a blanket from the trunk?”

Miza nodded, walking to the trunk, the sound of the latches being undone was heard, as Y/n rounded the bed, placing Lucia in her bassinet.

Y/n pulled the drawer of her bedside table open, looking at the two daggers. One, a steel plated with gold, and a red leather handle. The other, crystal.

Y/n grabbed the crystal dagger, keeping the blade in it’s small sheath, throwing it onto the bed.

Joffrey had a room prepared for Y/n many months ago. Right after the battle of the blackwater, a birthing bed next to the window, right where she could look out to the city instead of out beyond the blackwater.

“Your Highness, what’s happening?” Miza questioned, grabbing onto Y/n’s arm gently, her tan skin clashing with Y/n’s own pale skin

“I… believe that my child wants to be born. We should go to the birthing room, call for the maester once we get there.”

Miza nodded slowly, looking to Lucia who sat up straight, looking as her mother moved around the room, picking up the things that were needed. A small shoulder bag, with the dagger, blankets and a few of Lucia’s favored toys.

Lucia whined a bit as her mother turned away to grab the wooden rose.

Y/n smiled, picking up the rose, and turning back to Lucia, “Let’s go darling.” She spoke softly, picking Lucia up, holding her against her hip.

Miza opened the door holding it open for Y/n to walk through with Lucia.

Y/n carried the bag, and Miza helped her keep her balance. Giving courtesy nods to people they passed in the halls.

When they got into the room, Y/n made her way to the bed, sitting on the edge, kicking her shoes off, letting Lucia loose on the ground.

The pains had started, that was clear by how the shot through Y/n’s back and stomach. “I’ll get the maesters, I”ll be right back.” Miza spoke before leaving.

Y/n nodded, looking to Lucia as she crawled around on the stone floor.

Standing, she began to shed her dress, and pregnancy corset. Leaving her in a shift. She wasn’t ready to have a second baby. But she was being forced to. By Joffrey.

“Lucia.” Y/n cooed, getting onto the ground as best as she could, holding her arms out for Lucia.

Luci smiled, turning her head to look at her young mother, before beginning to crawl over to her, happily accepting her mother’s embrace.

Y/n held Lucia loosley, Her body resting against Y/n’s stomach. The only barrier to her half sibling. But Luci didn’t know that yet, the only thing on her mind was the toy in hand. “My little direwolf.” She said happily, running her fingers gently through Lucia’s hair to comb out any loose knots that were there.

The door opened. No squeaking hinges.

Looking up, Y/n saw Maester Frenken and Pycelle. Frenken had a kind smile on his face when his eyes landed upon the young mother and her infant child, but Pycelle seemed disgruntled at Frenken’s presence.

“Princess, how are you coping?” Frenken asked, squatting down the best he could, placing a gentle hand on the back of Lucia’s head, finally catching her attention off of her toy.

“As well as I did before.” Y/n answered simply, a hand resting on Lucia’s torso. Her thumb rubbing a stripe into Lucia’s chest.

“I did hear stories that you coped well with little Lucia.” He said, pulling his hand away as a maid and Miza came in. The maid carrying a large bowl of water, and a rag that was draped over the edge of the bowl.

“I did the best I could, with the predicament I was put in.”

Frenken nodded as Pycelle spoke with the maid, giving her instructions of what to do when the delivery was under way.

“The king has insisted on being here for the birth, He’ll be along soon, I hope. So we can get you ready.” He said in a kind manner, standing up, going to speak with Miza.

Y/n’s attention was back on Lucia and her curls. The deep brown looking almost black. And her tan skin beginning to become freckled from all the amount of times Miza took her out to courtyard to get some sun.

The pain got progressively worse, but not as bad as Y/n had remembered. She’d wince and make noises of discomfort, but she’d continue talking to Lucia and the others, until Joffrey came in.

He wore gold, and a red cape that matched with the sheets of the birthing bed. His crown absent from his head, and his hair was neatly pulled back with a ribbon.

“Your Grace.” Pycelle bowed, along with Frenken and the handmaidens.

“Maester. How’s my sister?”

“She’s perfectly fine, Your Grace. Handling the process perfectly.”

Stop speaking of me as though I’m not here. Y/n thought. Joffrey can ask me himself.

Joffrey nodded and looked to Y/n. His eyes briefly looking over her swollen stomach. Before making eye contact with her. The hatred she held made him shift in discomfort.

“What is she doing on the floor? There’s a bed for a reason.” Joffrey waved to them. Miza quickly picking up Lucia, and Maester Frenken and the maid helping her onto the bed.

Y/n did her best to scoot to the farthest side. To be close to the wall that the bed was pushed against. To look out the window.

Y/n held her arms out for Lucia. Miza let Lucia onto the bed, letting her crawl to Y/n’s arms. Lucia laid down against Y/n’s side, Y/n’s arm around Lucia, holding her close.

The pain became so much worse as the hours passed. The hours getting close to the night when Maester Pycelle announced that it should be time to begin pushing.

“Oh hush you old man! The waters haven’t even happened yet, it’s not time!” As if on cue, Y/n felt the bed beneath her bottom become increasingly wet. “Now it’s time.” She spoke bitterly.

knowing that she’d be turned on her side, Y/n lifted Lucia up and placed her closest to the window, letting Miza and the maid help her turn to face the window as well. “Princess, how are you doing?” Miza questioned, pushing Y/n’s hair from her face.

“Peachy.”

That earned a light hearted laugh from Miza as she gently rubbed comforting circles into Y/n’s arm “It’ll be alright, You’ll have your new babe soon.”

“Get her left knee tucked under her chin.” Frenken ordered to Miza, who obliged without a word to him, only a gentle, “Sorry.” before she lifted Y/n’s knee up to her chin, holding her ankle to keep her in place.

Lucia looked more concerned than Joffrey when she heard the sound coming from Y/n after maester Pycelle told her to begin pushing.

Lucia whined, and placed two gentle, worried hands on Y/n’s face, which grew red as her eyes were squeezed shut and her long groan of pain grew louder.

“And stop.” Frenken told her. Y/n stopped, opening her eyes to meet Lucia’s deep storm grey eyes which looked over her mother’s face with a fear that no child should have.

“I’m alright, darling, perfectly fine.” Y/n told the infant, bringing her close to hold.

Joffrey didn’t know what to do, so he stood off to the side, watching everyone’s every move. He was able to see whenever someone tapped a finger. Every time Y/n made an invisible circle with her foot to regain circulation.

“Again.” Frenken told her. The cycle seemed endless, pushing and taking a break, it felt as if the child would never arrive.

But the pain became excruciating, eliciting a high pitched scream from Y/n’s lungs, prompting Lucia’s cries to begin, as she grabbed at Y/n’s shift nervously,

Miza rubbed Y/n’s arm and back, trying to calm her.

“The head is born.” Pycelle announced.

“Boy or girl?” Joffrey demanded.  
“We don’t know yet, Your Grace. The child most come out fully.”

Joffrey nodded, continuing to watch.

With one more push, the child slid out, and their cries mixed with Lucia’s. Though Lucia’s was out of fear, and the newborn’s was out of shock.

But the maesters remained quiet, and the maid gasped. But all Miza could do was laugh. “A boy, Your Highness, a little boy, with a little sibling!”

“What?” Y/n demanded, cranning her head to look at Miza who continued to laugh.

“Twins. The one still inside is holding your son’s foot!”

Y/n didn’t expect to, but she began to laugh as well at the idea. The wailing child with a hand holding onto them.

She felt the dip in the bed where Frenken placed the newborn, getting ready to deliver the second child.

The second happened quicker. Still with as much pain, still striking fear into Lucia when the child crowned, only for Y/n to quickly try to calm her down after the second child slipped out fully as well.

“A daughter!” Miza announced, shaking Y/n’s arm.

The princess smiled at that, a sigh of relief as she kissed Lucia’s head. The afterbirth was painless, her priorities on calming Lucia down as Frenken traded places with Miza, who went to a side table with the maid to wash the newly born twins off.

“It’s alright, darling. Everything’s fine.” She said happily, eventually getting Lucia’s cries to quiet down.

A few moments later, Y/n was sat up fully in the bed, two twins in her arms and Lucia’s sleepy head in her lap.

“They need names.” Joffrey spoke, looking at Y/n, silently begging her to make eye contact. But she was absorbed with looking over her daughter and son’s faces. Her daughter wrapped in gold, and her son in black.

“I think I’ll name him Tybolt. And her, Cerelle.” Y/n spoke softly.

They both had golden hair, and pale skin, certain to freckle up with short amount of time in the sun. Cerelle had pale green eyes with flecks of gold, like Y/n’s grandfather, Tywin.

Tybolt had Joffrey’s eyes. Deep green, that stared up at her, they were kinder than Joffrey’s. More full of life than Joffrey’s.

“Lucia, Tybolt and Cerelle. The bastard children of Y/n Lannister.” She murmured to herself.


	4. Chapter 4

They were perfect, but at the same time, something was wrong. Cerelle was overly aware of everything near her. The moment Joffrey tried to take her from Y/n’s arms into his own, she started to shake her head, crying, with balled up fists and a glare on her face.

She was overly aware of every moment and sound, her head always turning whenever Y/n even made an audible sigh. She followed everything with her eyes, and smiles. Tybolt was the opposite.

Tybolt didn’t listen intently, and you couldn’t try to catch his attention even if you tried. And he didn’t follow a thing with his eyes.

A knock on the door sounded, catching both Y/n, Cerelle and Miza’s attention. Miza being the one to stand and open the door, revealing Y/n’s grandfather, Tywin.

The man was in his fifties, with broad shoulders, and hair in all the wrong places. Once he’d started to go grey before Y/n’s birth, he’d begun to shave his head. But his thick whiskers on his face had remained gold.

Loving pale green eyes examined Y/n before he walked in, his eyes finally landing on his great grandchildren who rested on the bed with Y/n. Lucia nestled into Y/n’s side, and the twin’s heads resting on Y/n’s arm, but their bodies on her thighs.

Miza left the room, closing the heavy wooden door behind her.

“Grandfather, to what do I owe the pleasure?” She questioned, fixing her posture, sitting Lucia’s peaceful sleep. The small one year old deciding to slump forward and then onto Y/n’s lap with her younger siblings.

Tywin shrugged, walking to the edge of the bed, “I’ve brought a gift for you… and the children.”

Y/n was taken a back by that “A gift?” She questioned. He nodded, waving in a steward who carried in a box.

Tywin beckoned him to open in. And once it was, Y/n could see furs. Gold and light brown, like lion fur. Tywin dismissed the steward, telling him to leave the room.

Tywin bent down, picking up two blankets. “One for the girl, one for the boy.” He gestured to the twins, setting them on the edge of the bed, before he pulled out a larger fur blanket for Lucia. He pointed to Lucia, nodding, before he set it down on the bed. Pulling out a gown.

“Your grandmother, Joanna, wore one like this to our wedding, but it was ivory, not red.” He said gently holding it out for Y/n to touch. The velvet was soft under the pads of Y/n’s fingers, and the absurdly long fur that lined the sleeves and collar was coarse, yet soft and welcoming

“It’s beautiful.” She mumbled, her breath stunted as she looked at the two different shades of red that made up the dress.

“One more thing.” He said, putting the gown on the bed, pulling out a cloak. “This… was your grandmother’s. I’ve had some additions to it, but I think she’d like for you to have it.”

The cloak was a muted red, with a fur lining, just like the gown.

“The fur, all of it, was made from a lion’s coat. Whenever the lions died at Casterly Rock, my father would have them skinned. He didn’t want their life to be in vain, neither their body. Most of it is kept away, but I thought you’d like to have some.”

“The, collar, of the gown, is it… a Lion’s mane?”

Tywin nodded. “I don’t care what your mother says, she is not the most clever person in this family. Even Jaime knew it years ago. And Tyrion knew it when he first saw you. I knew it the moment she and Robert announced she was pregnant. I just had this feeling.” He admitted, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at Y/n and her small family.

“When I am gone, you have to be the backbone of this family. You must be the one that all of the seven kingdoms fear.”

Y/n looked at the children, watching as Tybolt stretched his arms out, his hands landing on Y/n’s knee and on Cerelle’s chest.

“What if I don’t want to be feared? Isn’t a mix between fear and love, better?”

Tywin smiled, “Clever girl. Love is always a good thing to have, but if you must choose, choose fear. If those people in the city are more afraid of what the enemy will do to them if they don’t side with them, then they’ll betray you, even if you’re the most beloved. If they are more afraid of you, and what you’ll do to them if they side with the enemy, you’ll never be betrayed.”

Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat. Why was he telling her this? Surely his death wouldn’t be for a long time.

“But, never be cruel. If you are cruel, the people will give it their all to get rid of you.”

Y/n nodded and looked up at him. “Why are you telling me this?”

Tywin smiled and looked at the children once more in her arms. “As long as I am in this world a little longer, I will do whatever I have to do to protect my family. And when I’m gone, I need someone who’s not foolish to keep my legacy alive.”

Now it was Y/n’s turn to smile. “I can be foolish.” She admitted, resting her spare hand on Lucia’s arm.

“That you can be. So, I do have to ask, who is their father?”

Y/n struggled for an answer. She couldn’t possibly ever tell him that the twins shared the same father as Lucia. It was clear that they didn’t, the extreme differences between their appearances were an obvious point that they didn’t. But how could she possibly tell Tywin that Lucia’s father was Robb Stark’s bastard brother? And that Cerelle and Tybolt’s father was Y/n’s own brother?

“Grandfather, I can’t say anything-”

“Yes you can, dear. We’ve all heard the rumors. One, I can accept, but the other?”

“Which rumors?” Y/n questioned, at this point she couldn’t keep track of the amount of rumors there were. She dismissed some of them and dwelled on others, thinking on how people in this castle had awful minds to think up such cruel and disgusting rumors.

There was the one that Ned Stark told his oldest boy, Robb Stark, that he were to marry her, and that Robb Stark forcefully took her maidenhood from her before they left WInterfell.

There was a rumor that Ned was Lucia’s father, that one sickened Y/n the most.

Then the twins, most of the rumors of how they were sired were close. One said that Joffrey and she had been in an intimate relationship before. A consensual one. One said that she had come onto Joffrey. But none were the complete truth, of course they weren’t. Who could possibly know what happened in Joffrey’s mind and behind closed and locked doors.

Tywin rose his brows. “Robb Stark? Your…” The idea sickened him as well, Y/n determined. Perhaps he could fix her problem. The fear that had sparked up when Joffrey had leaned in close before he left the night before ‘I’ll put more in your belly’

“If I tell you, promise, you won’t hurt Lucia? Or my twins?” She asked.

Tywin nodded, resting a reassuring hand on Y/n’s shoulder.

“Grandfather, Ned Stark had a bastard son, Jon Snow. Lucia is his daughter. But I loved him, and I wanted to give myself to him. No crime was committed,” Y/n felt the tears well up in her eyes as she looked down at her twins. “Cerelle and Tybolt… are Joffrey’s… He… he took me… on his name day.”

She could hear Tywin give a frustrated sigh before he stood. “Y/n, I can guarantee that you and your children will be safe.” He spoke.


	5. Chapter 5

Y/n let out a happy sigh, holding Tybolt as she down the hall, Miza next to her with Lucia in her arms, and the nurse maid Joffrey assigned to the twins holding a sleeping Cerelle.

Y/n found it hard to find a connection with her son. He rarely looked anyone in the face. And even when he did, his eyes seemed full, yet as the days progressed, confused. Deep forest green eyes devoid of any knowing, no indicator that he knew them.

Lucia had been the one who developed slowly, taking a bit longer to get the grasp of things. Cerelle was the opposite. She was quick. She was only a few weeks old, and already, she wanted to so badly to sit up.

Y/n attributed it to Y/n being left alone to take care of Lucia, with Miza’s help of course. But Joffrey was giving the twins all they needed. Even going as far as to send a wet nurse to feed the twins for Y/n. Though she eagerly refused the woman’s attempts to feed her children. Cerelle got constant attention from Joffrey, even if she hated it, even if all she did was cry when he held her.

Tybolt… didn’t seem to be developing at all. He made no attempts to do anything. He just stared off into space.

“Tell me Sansa, how has Margarey and Olenna been treating you while I’ve been away?” Y/n questioned, giving a quick glance to the Stark girl who seemed… happy all of the time now. Always a faint smile playing on the corners of her lips, and her eyes now glassy with joy. This was the Tyrell’s doing, she knew that.

“They’ve been very kind, and Loras has been gallant. Oh, but I must tell you something, something about a proposal” Sansa said with glee.

Y/n noticed the fidgeting fingers and the skip in her step. The skirts of her dress bouncing as she did so.

“Tell me, Sansa!” Y/n said happily looking at the redhead, pulling her aside, the nurse maid and Miza standing off to the side as well, conversing amongst themselves, Miza letting Lucia lay a gentle kiss on her baby sister’s head.

“Olenna has suggested my hand in marriage to Lady Margaery’s oldest brother, Willas, the heir to Highgarden.”

Y/n smiled just as big as Sansa now, a hand grabbing both of her hands, “I do hope that happens for you. I hear he’s a very kind soul,” Y/n cupped Sansa’s face gently, her warm hand meeting Sansa’s cold cheek. “Sansa, I would give anything to make sure you get out of this awful place.”

Sansa’s smile became gentle, and loving. Like the ones Myrcella would give Y/n so happily. “I know, Y/n.”

“I must go, Joffrey called my attendance at a meeting, with our grandfather our regal mother.”

Sansa nodded, “I should go to the godswood anyway. I need to pray.”

Y/n could feel something wrong with that statement. Sansa was never one to pray in the godswood, but in a sept. If she even wanted to leave the comfort of her bedchambers.

“Alright.” Y/n let the lie slide. Not wanting to become invasive of the young girl’s space. Not after all Joffrey had already done.

Y/n and Sansa went separate directions, but the nurse maid and Miza followed her to the hand’s tower to see Y/n’s grandfather.

Y/n looked around the new council room, Tybolt’s head shifting against her arm to look at the light that the window provided. Light was the only thing that got his attention.

“How are they?” Cersei questioned gently, looking at her child, watching as Y/n shifted her weight gently to keep Tybolt calm.

“Fine,” Y/n shrugged uselessly, looking down at Tybolt. “They’re fine.”

Cersei gave a small, curt nod. “Your grandfather told me you named them Cerelle and Tybolt.”

Y/n nodded, understanding that her mother was trying to make conversation with Y/n. What conversation could be made? Y/n could barely look at her mother. She was blind to what Joffrey was. Her love for him outweighing her better judgement.

And yet, in some sick way, Y/n still loved and saw him as her brother. The brother the learned to dance with, the one who played stupid games with her.

She wished she could forgive Joffrey. In most cases, whenever he came into the room, she didn’t remember what he did. To her and Sansa. To Ned Stark. But then he’d give her that mischievous smile that held no secrets. No, it only ever gave them away.

“They were fitting.” she responded painly, turning her head when Cerelle began to fuss. She had a mild moment of panic, watching her youngest begin to cry. She tried to think of how to exchange infants with the nurse maid, but before she could, Cersei was by Y/n’s side, holding her arms out for Tybolt.

Y/n hesitantly placed the delicate boy into her mother’s arms before turning to the nurse maid, taking Cerelle from her arms.

Cerelle almost instantly calmed down, but Lucia was staring at the little girl curiously. “Your sister’s alright, Luci. Don’t worry.” Y/n smiled, kissing Cerelle’s golden hair. Lucia beginning to put together small fragments of words. Like ‘ma’ and ‘miz’. Ma was for Y/n, and Miz was for Miza, who’s name was currently too complicated for her.

“He looks like Joff.” Cersei said quietly, looking at Tybolt. Y/n looked at her mother, watching as Cersei stared down at her grandchild sadly.

“He does.” Y/n stated, hearing the door open, for Tywin and Tyrion to come in. Tyrion behind him. Half of his nose was missing, and the scar across his face made him look even uglier than before.

“Y/n!” Tywin said happily, giving his granddaughter a smile. Y/n smiled back at him “Grandfather, I hate to bring down your joy to see me, but why am I here? Where’s Joff?”

Tywin gave a pondering nod as he pulled out his chair “The king is on his way. And we must talk about your dowry.”

“Dowry?” Y/n was caught off guard. As though she’d been jumped in the streets by a drunk man.

“Yes, we must discuss how much gold dragons we are willing to give away for your hand in marriage.” Tywin confirmed.

Y/n looked to Cersei who seemed just as shocked, and then to her uncle Tyrion. Who didn’t seem shocked in the least bit.

Y/n looked to Miza, who set Lucia down to take Cerelle from her. Letting Y/n take Lucia who sat calmly at Miza’s feet. Y/n rested Lucia at her hip as she pulled out a chair, taking her seat, sitting Lucia in her lap.

The door opened, and Joffrey walked in, not letting anyone stand before he took his own seat. Right across from Y/n and next to their mother, Tyrion took his seat next to Y/n.

“Your Grace, we must speak about your sister’s dowry-”

“What about it? I thought we already paid the Martells?” Joffrey seemed unhappy by the topic but his attention quickly snapped to Tybolt, who was still in their mother’s arms. Sleeping with his arms up by his head.

“Not Myrcella. Y/n.” Tywin clarified.

Now he had Joffrey’s attention. His head turned so fast that Y/n prayed he’d break it. But he didn’t.

“Dowry? Why on earth would she need a dowry for? It’s not like she’s getting married any time soon. She’s ruined her value by giving birth to not only one bastard, but three.”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed at Joff, his fingers strumming a gentle beat against the wooden table. “I’ve already arranged a marriage for her,”

Y/n’s heart plummeted, yet at the same time, soared. Could she finally be away from Joffrey? But what about Sansa? Would her marriage to Willad Tyrell go through, would she finally be free from Y/n’s younger brother?

“To whom!” Joffrey demanded, standing, his fists balled up by his sides, the rape cape surrounding his entire body.

“To Willas Tyrell! We discovered a plot, to marry Sansa to the Tyrell heir. After your uncle’s marriage to Sansa, tonight, she’ll be on her way to Highgarden to marry Willas. And besides, he’s already written a letter, saying that he’d like to claim these children as his own.”

Tywin gestured to the three children that Y/n had bore.

Lucia found her way into a curled up position against Y/n’s chest, Y/n’s arms holding her gently.

That wasn’t right. Sansa should be marrying Willas. She should be the one escaping Joffrey’s torments. His beatings he sent upon her through Meryn Trant.

Y/n’s eyes were watering “You can’t do this!” She snapped. “I will not marry him! And you will not marry Sansa Stark to my uncle! You would do that to her? Torture her in that way? Not an inch of happiness for her? No chance of having a child without Lannister blood? No chances for having a child she’ll be able to look at?”

Tywin looked to Y/n and rolled his eyes. “You will marry Willas, whether you like it or not. He has requested for these children to carry his name, but for your blood children to inherit highgarden once he and his father are gone.”

Y/n shook her head, tears beginning to spill. “She’ll never find a way to get away from you all, will she? She’s a child, grandfather, and you all torture her.” Y/n cried, feeling Miza’s gentle, warm hand rest on her shoulder.

“Prepare a dress, Y/n, for the wedding, and one for your own.” Y/n forced herself up, holding Lucia to her chest. A hand on her bottom and the other on her back, holding her close.

The nurse maid went to Cersei taking Tybolt from her, following the crying princess and her handmaiden who tried constantly to calm her down.

Y/n threw the ivory dress Renly had gifted her into a traveling chest, along with a spare one to wear after the wedding. already having changed into the dress Tywin gifted her. The fur soft against her skin, and the red a nice touch compared to her hair, and jewelry. All of the jewelry Renly had saved for her, the set of antler jewelry with black onyx stones anyway.

“Did you think Sansa knew?” Miza asked, handing Cerelle to one of the nursemaids Joffrey had sent to watch them while Y/n, Miza and Luica went to the wedding.

“No,” Y/n stated, grabbing the shoulder plates, with the attached white cape gently folding it into the chest along with a few outfits for Lucia, as well as the lion fur blanket. “She thought she was going to marry Willas. But instead… I have to.” She said sadly, closing the chest, latching it for a steward to come get it and take it to the wheel house that they were preparing for her.

Miza looked down sadly as well “That poor girl.” From all of the years Miza spent in Y/n’s service, Y/n had noticed that she always had empathy. She felt for other people easily, and whenever someone was in pain, she had sympathy for them, and would do whatever she could to help fix it.

But this wasn’t something she could fix. Y/n was to be married, and so was Sansa. Y/n could only hope and pray that Tyrion wouldn’t lay a finger on her.

“Lucia, come here, darling.” Y/n held her arms out for Lucia, squatting to the floor. Lucia smiled big and bright, a few little white teeth poking through her gums. What a hassle those had been.

Lucia crawled over to her mother from the small corner they designated for her toys to go. A soft fur carpet under the chest of toys, extending to the seating she had in her bedchambers, to prevent any scraping of Lucia’s knees or hands.

Lucia stood up on her knees, holding her hands out for her mother to pick her up. Y/n smiled down at her oldest, seeing Jon’s own smile as she picked her up and stood.

“I must go see Sansa. Be sure that she’s… coping.”

Miza nodded, following after her to the Stark girl’s bedchambers. Ser Meryn and Ser Kettleblack already waiting outside of the door in their white scaled armor of the king’s guard.

“Open the door.” Y/n gestured to the heavy wooden door they were guarding. Ser Meryn gave her little notice, but Kettleblack was gentle with his manners, opening the door for her to let her into the room. She was already in her wedding gown. An ivory semite gown with grey myrish lace over the bodice in gentle vee that almost went to her belly button.

Hefting Lucia up to her hip, she watched as Sansa looked at Cersei in horror. Cersei, who had accompanied the seamstress who brought the dress.

“Princess, please, tell me this is a lie, please, tell me, I won’t be marrying Lord Tyrion.” Sansa pleaded, standing nervously as she looked between the queen regent and Y/n.

Y/n turned to Cersei, handing Lucia over to her. Y/n went to Sansa’s side, holding her hands out to give her an embrace.

Sansa practically threw herself into Y/n’s arms, “Please, Y/n, please don’t let me marry Tyrion!”

Y/n sighed resentfully for her brother, and her mother. “Sansa,” Y/n pulled from the hug, cupping the younger girl’s cheeks. “You, are a Stark. As long as you are alive, you will always be a Stark. Whether you wear white and silver, or red and gold. Your heart belongs to the North. And you know, I will always do anything for you. Sansa, I love as though you are my sister. You are a wolf, we must shut our eyes and endure, as our betters have done before us. And once this is all over, you must bare your teeth and growl. You, are a Stark of Winterfell, and until you can bare your teeth, let me do it for you.” 

Sansa stared at Y/n, before nodding, letting Y/n take her hand, leading her to the doorway..


	6. Chapter 6

Y/n had watched with such careful eyes that they began to hurt. The hundreds of tall candles bringing light into the sept. Sansa standing as tall as a girl put into her situation could. Her prayers to the mother and the father would be unmet. Y/n would know. Her own never were. Gods were cruel. She supposed that’s what made them gods.

She could remember every prayer she made after Joffrey came to her bedchambers, or every time she called her to his own. Prayers to the mother to not let his seed quicken and land her with another child in her belly. That prayer was met with indifference by the mother.

She prayed to the father to judge Joffrey justly. To give her some solace in all of the chaos that her family brought her.

She begged for the father to forgive her, for her own sins, and to look upon Joffrey’s own horrendous deeds towards her. Those were also met indifferently.

Y/n was forced to watch in disgust as Joffrey took Lord Stark’s place, removing the cloak of protection, with the colors that had once been Lord Stark’s. She noticed when Joffrey’s hand slipped down to Sansa’s breast, and when he squeezed her.

Y/n could feel her stomach churn at the sight. Her hand finding Miza’s as she held Lucia to her hip.

Miza’s hand gave Y/n’s a gentle squeeze, having seen the assault of the king as well.

Y/n would have giggled at her uncle’s embarrassment at one point. She didn’t know what that point would be. A long time ago, perhaps. When she was foolish, and the only true friend she had in the entire world was Miza.

She would have laughed when she was 13, before she’d met Jon. But the imp she had for an uncle struggling to put the Lannister cloak of protection on the thirteen year old, wasn’t an amusing sight. Watching as Tyrion tugged on Sansa’s skirt didn’t make her laugh, and when Joffrey kept laughing, going as far as to order Dontos to be the stepping stool for Tyrion, she only scowled at Joffrey.

And when he turned to look at her, his laughter immediately died down, a look of worry on his face as he looked over her frame, before turning back to the newlywed couple.

The wedding feast wasn’t much better. Sansa seemed sad the entire time, it almost made Y/n want to cry, and she couldn’t bring herself to talk to Sansa either. To give her words of comfort. The only thing she could do was let Miza take Lucia over to her aunt to be held. The pair always seemed to find joy together, Lucia and Sansa. They adored each other. And Sansa’s face lit up a few notches as she took the tan, dark haired infant from Miza.

Y/n went to turn, only to knock into Joffrey’s chest with a small gasp of shock.

Joffrey’s hands grabbed her shoulders and pulled her at an arm’s length away. Y/n coud feel Margaery and Olenna’s eyes on her. If Margaery’s cousins knew of the relationship Y/n had been forced into, they’d be watching every move too. If Garlan Tyrell or Mace knew, they’d be watching as well. But they didn’t.

“Sister, It seems you forgot how to keep your head on a swivel.”

Y/n sneered “Clever.” That stupid statement was something Jaime had always told them when they spared. And Y/n lived by it when learning. She’d watch Joffrey’s every move, and when she spared with Jaime, she’d watch him as well.

“Come, I must speak with you.” He gestured, taking her arm, leading her out to a hall that was open to the night. No ceiling or windows, no walls.

But on their way out, she’d looked up to see Addam. The steward who’d taken her to see the Tyrells in the garden. He wore mostly pale green for the Tyrell colors, but she noticed the red inked circle on the base of his thumb that he flexed to catch her attention. It did. And all she had was more questions.

“I would like to see you before you leave.” Joffrey stated, walking to the railing, both hands on the red stone, looking over the city.

“Why?” She questioned, walking to be beside him.

“You know why,” He stated, turning to lean his back against the railing, a hand coming to cup her cheek. “I love you dear sister, and while, I know I will still have you when you are married, I would like to have you one more time before you leave.”

Y/n gave a weak, empty smile. Forced against every muscle in her body telling her to run from him. “As you wish, your grace. Your bed chambers?” She questioned, looking up to her brother, seeing him nod, looking out to the feast in a cautionary manner, before he leaned down, stealing her lips in a gentle and passionate kiss. How did he do it? He was a monster, yet was able to be gallant when it suited him, and when he was with her, or the children she bore for him, he was gentle, almost loving.

He pulled away after a second, his deep green eyes looking into her emerald. The hand that had been on her cheek holding her dangerously close to her full breasts. His fingers on the sides of her ribs, and his thumb right under.

“I will have you back at court, right after the wedding night. I want to have you before my own wedding.”

He spoke, leaning back down for another kiss, before she pulled away sharply, hearing someone walk past. “I should go.” She spoke softly, turning to walk back to the feast. Bringing her sleeve to wipe her lips of the wetness he’d left.

Y/n saw Sansa still holding Lucia, holding up a goblet of wine to Lucia’s small lips. Letting her have a small taste of the richly sweet red wine.

She saw many things as she stood, the platform that lead up to the hall Joff had taken her into letting her have a good look. Addam, and his red circle still catching her eye. Why would he have an inked circle on his thumb? Looking over to Miza, she saw her with Sansa, and looking closely, to the skin that was shown under the sheer flowy fabric that was draped over her right shoulder, she could see another red circle. A strange thing to see. Ink didn’t usually show up on Miza’s skin. The light brown not usually allowing the ink to show.

She still had questions but she refused to pester them for now. Walking to her uncle’s side, she grabbed his stunted arm. “I have to have a word with you.” She told him, taking the cup from his hand, spilling some of the win on his clothing, making him jump in shock before he tightened his face in a glare.

“Now.” She added, walking to a corner of the room.

Tyrion followed shortly behind, his waddle becoming a stumble as the wine took its toll on him. “What is it?” He demanded.

“If you lay a hand of Sansa tonight, if you even think about bedding her, I’ll cut your tongue out with that lovely dagger you gifted to me when I was younger.”

Tyrion didn’t seemed shocked by your statement, what with how protective you were of the young girl. In fact, he seemed only surprised that you’d waited so long to speak with him.

“And why shouldn’t I bed her? She is my wife.” He responded nonchalantly.

“Hasn’t our family put her through enough? And she’s only thirteen.”

Tyrion rolled his eyes. “I do recall a specific thirteen year old princess, letting a bastard bed her? And letting that bastard’s seed quicken?”

Y/n’s blood began to boil. Jon Snow shouldn’t be boiled down to just a bastard. He was so much more. A loving brother to his siblings, a kind boy, and a man of the night’s watch. He was father to Lucia.

“I loved Jon. I let inside of me, because I loved him, and to begin with, I didn’t know if I did. I just knew I wanted to and that I wanted him. She doesn’t trust you. She doesn’t want you. Tysha trusted you, she wanted you. And I’m sorry Tywin can be cruel. But do not lay a finger on Sansa Stark.” Y/n left it at that, walking away from him.


	7. Chapter 7

Y/n spun into the arms of no other than Garlan Tyrell. His hands grabbing hers gently. It would make sense, he had to know that she was to marry his older brother. It was strange. Knowing that before the end of the month, she’d be married to a man she’d never met.

“Princess,” Garlan greeted sweetly. “I don’t believe they’ve told you this yet, but I will be helping escort you to Highgarden. Joffrey has also given me the honor of taking your maiden’s cloak at the wedding.” He informed her.

“Has he?” Y/n questioned, dancing to the music along with the others. Looking behind Garlan, she could see Sansa, legs like wood with Elinor Tyrell’s squire, and betrothed. She couldn’t tell why Sansa was so stiff, but looking to the left she saw Joffrey. The dancing partner Y/n had started with. Y/n realized that they had just been dancing together. It sickened her to know that Joffrey had laid a hand on her.

“My lady, I believe that you will find Willas a good husband to you. He is kind, and he’d do anything to keep you happy.” Garlan was trying to find the right phrase to calm Y/n’s nerves about the trip that was only so many hours away from starting.

“We’ll see, now won’t we?” she questioned, before spinning on cue along with the others in the large circle, spinning away and landing back in Joffrey’s arms. Like how the dance had started.

“What were you two speaking about?” Joffrey quietly demanded.

“Only my betrothed.” She responded. They danced quietly until the music ended, and as soon as the last string on the lute was plucked, she fled from the dance floor, heading to Miza who spoke with Elinor and Megga Tyrell. Elinor cooing over Lucia’s chubby, freckled cheeks.

Y/n took her spot next to Miza, and found a moment of peace and silence. That was before Joffrey announced that he wanted the bedding.

“It’s time to bed them! Let’s get the clothes off her, and have a look at what the she-wolf’s got to give my uncle!”

Other men took up the cry as well, loudly.

Tyrion lifted his eyes slowly from his wine. “I’ll have no bedding.”

Y/n saw Joff seize Sansa’s arm, sending her into anger. Her legs carried her to Sansa’s side, grabbing Joff’s arm. “You will if I command it.” Joffrey fired, sparing Y/n a brief glance letting go of Sansa’s arm. Y/n pulled Sansa feet away from the king, holding her close, protectively.

This will last only a short time. And then, Sansa will no longer have to endure the wickedness of the king’s mind.

“Then you’ll service your own bride with a wooden prick. I’ll geld you, I swear it.” Tyrion threatened, stabbing the wooden table he sat at with his dagger.

Silence fell upon the hall. Everyone staring at the groom in shock. But Y/n only glared at her brother and uncle. Holding Sansa’s arm in a careful hold, letting Sansa squeeze her hand.

Y/n watched her mother turn to Tywin, “Did you hear him?” She demanded. Lord Tywin rose from his seat.

“I believe can dispense with the bedding. Tyrion, I am certain you did not mean to threaten the king’s royal person.”

Tyrion had a spasm of rage pass across his face. “I misspoke,” he said. “It was a bad jape, sire.”

“You threatened to geld me!” Joffrey said shrilly. Y/n let go of Sansa, forcing herself to Joffrey’s side, placing a calming hand on his chest, a hand grabbing his wrist.

“Stand down, Joff. He didn’t mean it.”

“I did, Your Grace,” Tyrion spoke “But only because I envied your royal manhood. Mine own is so small and stunted.” Tyrion leered. “And If you take my tongue, you will leave me no way at all to pleasure this sweet wife you gave me.”

Y/n looked to Tyrion, eyes burning with fury as he made eye contact with her. His drunken state always angered her. She hated it whenever someone was drunk. The idiotic statements they made.

Laughter burst from the lips of a few, but Joff didn’t laugh, nor Lord Tywin. Y/n grabbed hold of the cape that was clasped at his neck. “Joffrey, he’s drunk.” But her words didn’t reach him.

“Your Grace,” Tywin said, “my son is drunk, you can see that.”

“I am,” the imp confessed, “but not so drunk that I cannot attend my own bedding.” Tyrion hopped down the dais and grabbed Sansa’s hand roughly. “Come, wife, time to smash your portcullis. I want to play come-into-the-castle”

Y/n couldn’t stop them. But she knew her uncle well. Far better than any of the other men or women in this hall. She knew that he wouldn’t bed a child. Especially not with the threat to his life she’d given.

Looking up to Joffrey’s face, she saw him staring down at her. “Go to my bedchambers.” He commanded quietly.

Y/n nodded, letting go of him and walking to Lucia and Miza, placing a gentle kiss on Lucia’s head before looking at Miza, giving her a sad smile, before leaving for the king’s chambers.

Once there, all she could do was go to the desk by the window. One her never used.

She leaned over it, hands holding onto the edge, looking at the cleaned and polished wood. Sighing, Y/n took a seat in the chair.

It wasn’t long after when Joffrey came in. Slamming the door shut behind him “Did you see him? Hear him? He threatened to geld me!” He shouted, stomping towards Y/n.

“Joff, He didn’t mean it, he was drunk.” Y/n argued back, as Joffrey stopped in front of her, leaning against the desk, inches away from her. His cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, and his shoulders were tense.

Y/n stood from her seat, resting a hand on his back, and the other on one of his hands that rested on the desk her head on his shoulder Her thumbs rubbing gentle circles onto him to help calm him down.

Joff huffed in anger, pulling away from her comforting hands. Hands that, ever since becoming a mother, became gentle, and loving. He glared at her, tears brimming in his eyes. “Do you have to go?” He questioned.

Y/n felt a twinge of regret in her chest as she held her arms out to Joffrey. He walked into her embrace. Letting her comfort him. She let him rest his head on her shoulder.

Joffrey’s hands held her close, as if he was going to lose her completely. As though she was going to die, even though all she was doing was going to Highgarden, and doing as Tywin commanded of her. It was her turn, to shut her eyes and endure. And she would have no one baring their teeth for her, to protect her. She had to do it herself.

Y/n could hear his silent sobs, and could feel him shaking. She let out a shaky breath, holding him tight, and close. “Please don’t cry. Joff, please don’t cry.” That was always a plea she’d made when they had been playing and she accidentally hurt him, and she didn’t want to get in trouble. This was different. She didn’t want to hear him cry. Because no matter what he did to her, he could still manipulate her own emotions.

Joffrey pulled away, and Y/n brought her fingers up to his eyes, wiping tears away, letting her hands travel to rest on his cheeks. She looked at nothing in particular, to busy in her own thoughts to realize that Joffrey stopped crying, and was looking at her intently.

When Y/n looked back up at Joffrey she was taken back a little. He didn’t look angry, or sad. He held love and content in his eyes.

“You have to go.” He said softly, cupping her cheek, his soft hands sending an unwanted shiver down her spine.

“I do.” She agreed. Slowly pulling away from him. “I’ll be back from Highgarden, for your wedding to the lady Margaery.”

Joffrey nodded slowly, and sadly, letting Y/n leave his bedchambers. It was the first time in a long time she’d left that room without being manhandled onto the bed. And she couldn’t help but smile as she made her way to her own bedchambers.

Walking in she saw the steward once more. Addam, picking up the chest full of her things. “Addam.” She greeted, on the alert.

“M’lady. Ser Garlan tasked me with gathering your things.” He responded, Miza standing with the nursemaids who looked exhausted, rocking the twins in their arms while Miza watched Addam and Y/n communicate.

“Right. Well, we’ll be out in a few minutes.” She told him, moving aside from the doorway to let him through. Y/n looked to Lucia who was asleep in Miza’s arms. “How are they?” She questioned. “How are all of you?”

The nursemaids smiled “We’re fine, Your Highness.” One responded.

“What are your names?”

The younger one who was no more than Y/n’s own age smiles “I’m Elenda.” the older one, around twenty said “Jayde.”

Y/n nodded. Elenda had soft looking light brown hair, with ivory skin and flushed cheeks. Her eyes were a pale blue. If Y/n knew didn’t know any better she’d say they were tully blue.

Jayde had deep brown hair, with dark hazel eyes. Her skin like Y/n’s, pale, and freckled. Jayde was tall, and Elenda was shorter than Miza, but taller than Y/n.

“Well, Elenda, Jayde, if you are to be in my children’s service, you are to come with to Highgarden. Come, we must go.” She gestured to the door way, Miza took the lead

“Elenda, Jayde, I’ll show you to the wheelhouse.” Miza smiled at Y/n and handed Lucia’s sleeping form to her. Y/n smiled down at Luci. Setting her down on the bed as she looked to her grandmother’s old cloak, with the lion fur linings. Reaching for it she pulled it on, tying it at her collar bone and pulling the hood over her head. Picking Lucia back up she smiled down at her again. “My little snow.” She whispered. Following after Miza and the nursemaids.


	8. Chapter 8

The white dress didn’t look right. Not on her. Y/n always associated colors with certain states. To her, white usually resembled purity. But since Joffrey’s name day, she hadn’t felt pure. She’d tried ivory. But she just felt worse in that. So Miza had taken out a red gown from Y/n’s trunk and had helped her dress into it.

Y/n felt at home in red. The color of war. The color of her house, Lannister. It wasn’t the traditional color to wear to one’s wedding, but she’d never met Willas, she might as well give a good impression to all of the powerful families of the Reach. Though, none of them could ever dream to be as powerful as Lannister and Baratheon. Most envied the two houses. They sat on the Iron Throne, and had defeated Stannis, and lost another enemy. An enemy who Y/n never saw as an enemy.

“They’re being cruel, not you giving you time to even meet the man you marry him.” Jayde huffed, dressing Lucia in a pale green dress.

“My mother never met Robert when she married him.” Y/n stated, as Miza grabbed the jewelry Y/n had brought with her, helping put it on.

“She was just a lady. You’re a princess.” The moment they’d arrived at Highgarden, they’d been ushered to a room to prepare, Y/n knew the wedding would happen the day they arrived, but she didn’t know that it would happen as soon as they did.

“A princess is far away from home, and who’s brother and grandfather demanded my presence as soon after the bedding as humanly possible.” Y/n pointed out.

“He’s twelve years older than you, are you sure he’ll bed you?” Miza questioned hooking the antler necklace around Y/n’s neck.

“Walder Frey was sixty-five years older than his last wife. She was twelve when they had their first child together. Arwyn Frey, he’s my age.” Elenda seemed horrified. It was considered to be taboo for a man to bed his young wife before she turned the age of fifteen or sixteen. But Y/n was close to turning fifteen, once the moon turned. She was sure that the age between her and her soon to be husband made no difference.

But she remembered her words to Sansa. ‘we must shut our eyes and endure, as our betters have done before us’

She couldn’t bare her teeth, or show the families of the Reach her claws. For the next two weeks, she was a rose without thorns. She had to fool them all. As her mother taught her so many years ago.

“I will do as my betters have. If the late Lady Annara Farring can endure Walder Frey at such a young age, I will endure my husband, whether he’s kind and gallant, or the kind of my brother. If he wants to have me bedded, then I will endure.”

Miza made eye contact with Y/n in the mirror. A small smile on her face. They knew Willas walked with a cane, and Elenda had said she’d seen him walking the halls in his wedding attire, she said he was handsome, just like his younger brothers, and had a wooden brace around his bad leg.

Miza had shared her thoughts with Y/n, about Willas, how she’d heard he was as kind as an innocent child, but he wasn’t foolish.

“We should get you to the sept.” Miza stated, Jayde coming over with Y/n’s maiden cloak. Though she was no longer a maiden, and was as far from it as a whore from the most expensive brothel in King’s Landing.

Y/n let the nurse maid place the cloak on her shoulders, tying the thick velvet straps at her neck. The two lion heads on her shoulder reflective with gold threading, the two golden stags on the back reflecting the light of the sun that came through the windows.

“Alright.”

The sept challenged the one in King’s Landing. The trim made of gold, and the white walls reflecting the sun. It was brighter than the one in King’s Landing. The statues of the gods only slightly taller than that of Willas. Who was taller than Y/n. And that was clear when Garlan took her to the Septon and the oldest Tyrell child. When Y/n stood up straight, her head reached his chest, and not his shoulder. He was taller than Jon, and Joffrey. She’d reached Jon’s clavicle, and Joffrey’s chin.

When she felt Garlan’s gentle hands untie her maiden’s cloak, she wanted to snatch it back, but she let him expose her red wedding gown. She saw the septon give her a curious look, and she only gave the septon an awkward smile. She hadn’t even spoke to Willas, and yet, the cloak of protection was put around her shoulders, the thin silk ties being tied into a perfect looking bow by Willas’s strangely nimble fingers.

Y/n looked up at him. He looked kind. His light brown curly hair pushed back and styled with oils, and his face clear of any facial hair, but a few red spots on his chin told her that he had to have shaved for the occasion. His brown eyes like the rest of his family’s were large, but his held only kindness.

She was taken aback by his voice when they said their vows, it was far from what she expected, but in a good way.

“With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my lord and husband”

“With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my lady and wife”

The septon looked to attendants and then to them. “You are now, man and wife, one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever”

The kiss was timid, gentle on both of their parts, nerves got the best of both of them, nervous smiles on both of their faces.

The feast was different. Full of life, and dances. The men and women dancing on the floor while Y/n ate her pie in peace, next to Willas who watched everyone with a smile on his face.

Y/n saw some of the women gushing over Lucia and the twins, Cerelle watching them with curious eyes and a confused smile on her face, while Lucia giggled happily. Tybolt only blinked blindly.

“I am sorry that the ceremony was a rushed occasion.” Willas spoke to Y/n, leaning over to speak to her.

Y/n turned to look at him, a smile on her face. “It’s alright.” She saw him smile back, but he looked out to the crowd, cautiously. Before looking back to her. “Anyone with a red circle, you can trust.” He said simply before sitting back up, leaving Y/n confused.

“Red circle?” She questioned. But looking to Miza, she was reminded of the circle she saw on her shoulder at Sansa’s wedding.

Looking to the steward, Addam who’d brought her things to the wheelhouse, she remembered the circle she’d seen on his hand. Reaching over, Y/n pulled up Willas’ sleeve, seeing a red circle around his wrist. Like a bracelet.


	9. Chapter 9

Y/n was on edge, her eyes focused on Willas’ wrist through most of the night. Knowing, that even though his sleeve covered it, the circle was there. Inked into his skin.

Y/n stood from her chair, stepping down from the dias, and walking over to Miza and the nurse maids. “Miza.” Y/n whispered once she was close enough, pulling her away into an empty corridor. “I must ask two things of you.” Y/n told her.

Miza nodded instantly, her loyalty showing through. “I must ask for you to take Tybolt to a maester here… I worry for him. Has he, interacted with you, or the nurse maids? Anyone else?”

Miza’s face dropped slightly, and with a shake of her head, Y/n sighed, looking over to her son, who some noble woman was fawning over, how his deep green eyes were pretty, and how one day he’d break plenty of women’s hearts.

“Take him to the maester, now. Tell him, I want to know what’s wrong with my son by morning.” Miza nodded walking over to Elenda, taking to infant from her, and leaving the room.

She was worried for him. He never interacted with anyone, only ever really reacting when she went to feed him. She feared the worst. That because of Jaime and Cersei being the result of her and Joffrey’s birth, and them being the result of Cerelle and Tybolt’s birth that the gods decided to be cruel, impairing her son. The very heir Joffrey had wanted. When she prayed to them for justice, and mercy, she never asked for this.

Turning her head to look at Willas, she saw his watchful eyes. But they weren’t directed at her, to a man who came to the center of the dance floor.

“Princess! It’s time for the bedding ceremony!” he called, giving the Y/n a sheepish smile. She only smiled back but her own smile was more mischievous.

“Husband!” She said gleefully, picking up her skirts and walking to the dias, “We should go, let the guests enjoy themselves.” She said helping him stand, and hooking her arm with his. “Continue the feast,” Y/n told them, leading Willas out of the hall. Her skin being exposed to the cold air of the ocean water. She had yet to see the beach, Perhaps she’d be able to tomorrow.

“We don’t have to-”

“Yes we do. I will do as my grandfather tells me. And he told me to marry you. A marriage is not complete until it is consummated.” Y/n responded, fidgeting with the sleeve of his jerkin.

Willas stayed silent, and Y/n knew why. They both had to mentally prepare themselves. They both knew it would happen, but knowing it, and it actually happening were two very different things.

Willas lead her to his bedchambers, opening the wooden door to let her in. The fireplace was lit, and so were a few candles. Giving the room some lighting. Instead of leaving them in complete darkness.

Y/n started to undo the buttons at the front of her gown, letting it slide down her body, leaving her in her chemise. Turning, Willas stood awkwardly against the wall of his bedchambers. She gave him a nervous smile, walking over to him, hands reaching to the buttons of his collar. “What’s wrong?” She questioned, unwavering, undoing the buttons.

“The last time I was with a woman, it was before my accident.” Willas admitted, watching Y/’s nimble fingers work the buttons of his jerkin.

“Then let me be the first since then.” She responded gently, holding her hand out for his. He looked to her pale hand, laying his much larger one in her’s, letting her lead him to the bed.

•••

They laid in silence, her head on his chest, and a caring arm around her waist, holding her close. “I wanted to tell you beforehand, to gain your trust, that, if this marriage produces no issue, I would want Tybolt to become the heir to Highgarden, after My father and I are gone.”

Y/n stayed silent for a moment. “And if he’s not suitable?” She questioned.

“Then you’ll be the Lady of Highgarden.” He responded simply. Before pulling away slightly to make eye contact with her. “I trust you, Y/n Baratheon-”

“No.” Y/n told him quickly. “It’s Lannister to you. To the others out there, I am Princess Y/n Tyrell, But I do not have that blood. I am a Lannister. Through blood. My youngest two are also Lannisters. And Luci, she’s a Stark.”

Willas didn’t question it, only staying quiet. Not wanting to ask what she meant by Stark. Though everyone had their theories. Many people in King’s Landing believed that She’d been raped by Robb Stark. A minority believed that it was consensual.

Some believed that Ned Stark was the father. That one sickened her. The idea that people believed Ned Stark would ever cheat on Catelyn Stark with her made her feel nauseous. She could see the reasoning for their rumor. Ned Stark had a bastard early in his marriage with Catelyn, but there were no rumors that Ned’s bastard had fathered Luci.

A knock sounded on the door, Y/n got out of the bed, letting the skirt of her chemise fall from her waist to her shins. Pulling on the robe by the bed she walked to the door, pulling it open to reveal Miza, holding Lucia in her arms.

“Y/n, the maester wants to speak with you.” Miza stated. Y/n nodded, looking back to Willas, giving him a smile before leaving the room, closing the door in the process.

“Maester, what’s the problem?” Y/n asked, seeing Elenda holding Tybolt in her arms, Cerelle asleep in Jayde’s.

The maester sighed, beckoning Elenda forward with Y/n’s son. “He… is not well, Your highness.”

Y/n crossed her arms, eyeing Tybolt’s resting face. “He is deaf, and blind. And it seems as though he can’t feel it when people try to touch him. I believe that he is crippled as well, and lame.”

Every word made Y/n’s heart drop, and tears well up in her eyes. She should have known. How could she have been so blind to her son’s blindness? And his deafness.

“Is he going to be okay?” Y/n questioned leaning over to Elenda, taking him from Elenda’s arms.

“He is very sickly, and frail. Lady Miza told me that he was chubby at birth, and has only been losing weight.”

Y/n nodded, looking down at Tybolt’s face, a gentle thumb touching his small cheek. Everything that Cerelle had, Tybolt didn’t.

“I would keep him as safe as you can, if he gets sick, he could easily-”

“Stop.” Y/n demanded “I don’t want to hear it.” She told him, sniffling, and looking up at him with teary eyes. Years ago, as a child she might have given a mother with a lame child a strange look. As though it were their fault. It wasn’t, Y/n knew that now. This was Joffrey’s fault. Getting her pregnant, giving her two children she loved to no end, who were born from two generations of brother-sister incest. They had to be as bad as the Targaryens at this point.

Y/n looked to Lucia who gave a yawn. And Cerelle who stretched her short, chubby little arms out.

The door behind them opened, revealing WIllas, in his smock, Upon seeing his young wife’s teary eyes, he took short steps over to her, bracing himself on his cane. “Y/n, what’s wrong?” He asked, resting his free hand on her shoulder.

“Nothing.” Y/n lied. “Can the children sleep with us tonight?” She questioned, looking up at him, she saw him nod his head in the direction of their room for the nursemaid and Miza, who walked into the room.

“Your Highness, I am sorry-”

“Enough, please.” She told the maester, following the nursemaids and Miza into the room, walking herself over to the bed, sitting on her side, holding Tybolt close to her chest. She didn’t care about the prayers she sent to the gods, she never asked for this. For her son to be given the worst circumstances in life. The blind were rarely seen by the public, neither were the deaf. What was to happen to the little boy Joffrey had wanted from her? Would her family reject him? For the things that were caused by the King? The King who could do no wrong in their eyes?

When Lucia was placed onto the bed, Y/n smiled at the dark haired little girl who crawled up to her mother’s side. The little girl who held her arms out for a hug. Y/n took an arm from holding Tybolt, holding it out to hug her eldest child.


	10. Chapter 10

The wheelhouse jostled suddenly as it went over a stone, jostling Y/n as she held Tybolt in her arms. Her index finger gently stroking little circles on his chubby cheek.

Y/n had been married off two weeks ago, and had only been able to spend a total of three days with her new husband before Joffrey called her back to court. But Willas had given her a gift. A strange gift to give to your wife who just so happened to be the oldest royal child of the late King Robert. It was a hawk. A messaging hawk.

It reminded her of Jon Snow’s direwolf, Ghost. He’d been only a pup, but he was small compared to his siblings, and had white fur, with bright blood red eyes.

The hawk was a small one, with white feathers, and red eyes. She hadn’t named him yet, and his squawking was keeping Lucia entertained but Cerelle upset. His cage sequered on the roof of the wheelhouse, in a corner.

Y/n smiled down at Tybolt’s face. She’d begun to feed him first, despite how much Lucia would complain about not being able to eat first, and even if it meant letting her throw a tantrum, or letting Cerelle cry a little longer, she’d feed Tybolt first. Y/n often ran out of milk after feeding Lucia and Cerelle, and Lucia didn’t drink as much as the twins, but it certainly took some away from Tybolt who used to be fed last because he was the calmest of the three.

Tybolt gained weight, his cheeks filling out, and dimples developing at his elbows, knees, ankles and wrists.

Y/n heard yelling outside the wheelhouse before it came to a stop. “What’s happening?” Y/n questioned. Jayde looked out the windows, pulling the curtains away from the clear glass windows.

“It appears that your brother, the king, sent escorts.”

Y/n sighed, and stood, passing Tybolt onto Jayde, before stepping out of the wheelhouse, a kingsguard already at the door, fist up, ready to knock.

“Your, highness.” He greeted. “We have news.”

Y/n tilted her head in curiosity, “And what is this news?” She questioned, hands clasped together in front of her.

“The traitor, Robb Stark, has been defeated.” He announced.

Y/n’s blood stopped, and sped up all at once. “What? How?”

The knight cleared his throat, pulling out a piece of parchment, not even being given the chance to unravel it himself before the princess snatched it from his hands and read it for herself.

“He was killed at his uncle’s wedding to a Frey girl? Who did this?” She demanded

“Roose Bolton, your highness, upon your grandfather’s request.”

Y/n wasn’t listening anymore, she stormed past him, a hand reaching for the dagger that she had strapped to her side, the crystal blade reflecting light onto her face as she stormed in the treeline.

She ran for minutes, before stopping at a tree, letting tears fall from her cheeks. She dug her knife at the bark angrily, letting it dull her blade with every jab.

“Who’s winning?” Miza asked softly watching the princess’ outburst of anger and sorrow.

Y/n let out a pitiful chuckle. “The tree.” She responded. Pulling away from the knife, letting it sit in the bark.

“That’s what I thought.” Miza mused, watching as Y/n sat against the large tree.

“Ned, Bran, Rickon, Catelyn, Arya, Robb, dead or presumed dead, all because they thought they could trust people, but they couldn’t. My daughter’s family killed-”

“It’s not your fault-” Miza started

“No, it’s not, It’s my family’s, and the Greyjoy’s, and the Bolton’s.”

“What are you saying?”

“Miza… I married a Tyrell, and have only Lannister blood even though I carried the Baratheon name. I am not a Tyrell, I am not a Baratheon, I am Y/n of house Lannister and I carried a child of a man who have sided with Robb… Because they’re brother… That would make me a traitor, that would make Jon Snow a traitor. And the worst part is, I don’t care if I commited treason.”

“It wasn’t treason, My lady… not when it happened, anyway.”

Y/n nodded. “Half of my daughter’s family is dead and they were my enemies by blood. I feel like most would be relieved.”

Miza stayed silent, only taking a seat next to Y/n.

“Sooner or later, someone else will get revenge on my family for the Stark’s…”

“You won’t be harmed my lady-”

“They’ll take that away from my daughter… And will never be able to tell her what it was like.”

“My lady?” Miza was concerned now.

“My daughter is too young to wear a piece of armor, or to weild a sword, because she is a girl, of royal blood, and of course, a bastard, and too young. They won’t suspect me, Miza. They’ll suspect the enemy to be on the inside.”

The realization hit Miza “You want to kill Joffrey-”

“He is the source of the Stark’s misery, and Lucia’s future sorrow. I’ll fight her battles. Before someone else takes that from her.”


	11. Chapter 11

Y/n was welcomed back to King’s Landing with open arms. Which was to be expected when her brother was the king and she, his unwilling lover.

Upon Y/n’s return however, Joffrey had been told of Tybolt’s health, or lack thereof. Joffrey wasn’t angry like she’d suspected he would be. No, in fact, he seemed devastated. And on the eve of his wedding day, he called her to his bed chambers, after he had ignored her for a week.

Joffrey went through the usual, but in a more solemn mood than usual. His hands were gentle, and he went easy on her, letting her face the ceiling, with her head on pillows as he took what he wanted from her.

If she wasn’t herself, she would have been disgusted by how easily she’d been able to move on with her night from him. How she’d been able to walk back to her own bedchambers, her brother’s seed very slowly running down her legs when she left the king’s chambers, leaving him to his own tears.

Instead of disgust, all Y/n felt for herself was excitement. The idea of Joffrey dead, and her friend, Sansa being free of his torment was the most exciting thought to her. She would even dare to say that her own excitement rivaled that of the queen-to-be, who stopped her in the hall.

“Princess!” Margaery said happily, still dressed in a frosty blue colored gown she’d been wearing since morning breakfast that the Tyrell’s had. Of course Y/n would be, by all legal rights, she was a Tyrell. She wore the green and gold as a way to toy with Joffrey, the Tyrells in King’s Landing took as her embracing the western house as her own.

“Lady Margaery.” Y/n greeted, clasping her hands together as she approached the brunette woman. She came to a stop, a few feet away.

“I think we should be friends you and I.” The Tyrell woman spoke matter of factly, with a curt nod and wicked looking smile.

“I was under the impression that we were? After all, I have every meal with you, and I am married to your brother?”

Margaery nodded again, “Yes, in essence we are friends, but we are not truly friends, I hope that this gift can help persuade you, that I do not intend to harm you, or those beautiful children of yours, I know that is your fear.” Margaery walked forward and held out a ring to her.

The gold ring caught light, accentuating the scratches on the precious metal, showing its age. It was of a lion, with roses that made up it’s maine.

Y/n looked at the ring, and gently took it. The band of the ring had small dents in it from where the previous wearer had banged it against something.

“Y/n Lannister, the queen of the rock, she married a Tyrell man. And the story goes that the queen of the rock didn’t trust her in laws, and as a sign of good faith, her sister in law gave her this ring, showing the joining of two families. That didn’t last, but I hope that this can.”

Y/n looked at Margaery skeptically. Yes, the former betrayed queen had married a Tyrell man. “That didn’t last because her husband had their marriage annulled. And kept their son away from her claiming that she had only raised her husband’s bastard son.”

Margaery nodded “I terrible thing to do to a mother. Taking her son, and saying it wasn’t her own-”

“And never letting them see each other, and supporting the bastard nephew who overthrew her?”

Margaery gave Y/n a look, sighing. “Those were all awful things.” She agreed, watching as Y/n stared at the ring she held.

“Why are you giving this to me?” Y/n questioned, holding the ring up. Everyone knew that the signature ring of the former, long dead queen was in the possession of the Tyrells. A prized possession at that, the last wearer being the queen’s daughter.

“History repeats itself in many ways, princess. I am repeating the gift, but I will not repeat my our ancestors did.”

•••

“How are you feeling princess?” Miza questioned while they walked down the halls.

“I feel fine. My cycle came late, and far heavier than usual.” Y/n shrugged. before looking down the hall and seeing Oberyn with his Paramore, Ellaria. “But my disgruntlement with uncomfort doesn’t even match up with how excited you’re about to be.” Y/n told her pointing down the hall to the Martell man. 

“Father!” Miza shouted happily, picking up her orange silk skirts of the gown that had been made for this day, and running full speed to Oberyn Martell, her curly dark hair bouncing everytime a foot landed on the ground.

Oberyn turned his entire body hearing his daughter’s voice, a smile spreading across his face when he saw her running to him.

He laughed, holding open his arms, a woman next to him smiling as well as Miza finally dropped her skirts when she was meer feet from him, and arms wrapping around his shoulders as she pounced on her father.

Y/n followed suit, Lucia in her arms, while the twins were with the nursemaids who were told to follow Cersei an hour ago.

Oberyn spun around once, laughing as he set his daughter down on the ground. “Would you look at that, Miza Sand in the flesh.” He gave a tooth filled smile as he cupped his daughter’s face. “Your sisters ask about you.” He spoke “You should ask that princess of yours if she’ll let you come back down south with us for awhile. Arianne misses you.”

“I’ve tried to tell her to go visit family.” Y/n interrupted, standing to the side of them.

“You hear that? She’s already given you permission, all you have to do is come visit.”

Miza shook her head. “I can’t, you know that, I have my job here. It’s always been her.”

Y/n caught on to the second ‘here’ sounding more like ‘her’ did Miza intend that? Or was it just a slip of the tounge? It had to be.

“That’s right, my bad.” Oberyn rolled his eyes, turning to the princess. “You must be Princess Y/n, Myrcella speaks of you fondly, and Miza does as well, in her letters.”

Y/n smiled and nodded “I am. I do miss Myrcella… How is she? I hope her and Trystane at least get along?”

“Trystane is bewitched by her. She recieved the Lannister beauty, and she is kinder than i’ve ever seen a child.”

Y/n nodded “She’s is a very pretty young girl, and she’s the kindest person I’ve met. A little naive perhaps, but she is only a child.”

Oberyn spoke his words of agreement, before introducing Y/n to Oberyn’s Paramore, Ellaria Sand, who greeted both of them warmly, but engulfed Miza in a tight and loving hug before they all departed.

The morning of the new year felt refreshing. It made Y/n feel as though she could finally breathe and shower Luci in her affection. The twins off with nursemaids, and Joff off doing whatever he was doing before breakfast. Although she held the Tyrell name, she refused to sit with Margaery and her flock of dazed hens.

Miza had gone to eat her breakfast with her father and his paramore on the other side of the room, while Y/n sat next to Joffrey.

The infant’s giggles erupted through the entire room, echoing against the red stone walls, and back into everyone’s ears.

Cersei smiled at her daughter and granddaughter, watching as Lucia squirmed in Y/n’s arms, her curly dark brown hair bouncing everytime she wiggled.

Sansa had taken her seat beside Y/n, and Tyrion on the other side of Sansa, downing the golden colored wine as his child bride and niece ate their breakfast. Y/n ate the hot peppers, not even noticing that everyone else found them too hot, or paired them with something else to cool them down.

Y/n bit into one, and let Lucia take a bite out of a honey cake that was placed on her platter of food. Y/n had her own few glasses of wine, but she shared it with Sansa. Not wanting either of them to get too tipsy off a light weight drink.

Once the food had been cleared the platters were taken away, and the wine left, so Cersei could present her gift to Joffrey.

A threadbare maiden’s cloak. Of red and gold, the same cloak that Y/n’s grandfather had draped over Joanna Lannister’s shoulder at their wedding. The same that Cersei had bore as her maiden’s cloak.

It was a tradition Y/n and Willas had been robbed of. It was tradition to give the couple gifts on the morning of their wedding. But they people of the Reach corrected it even though Y/n had told them to just let it slide. She didn’t want to be showered in gifts. She never did.

For them, they’d only got the gifts the morning after. Another thing that was tradition in the Reach.

When Lord Paxtar Redwyne brought forth a wooden model of a ship, Joffrey acted the benevolent king that he always did in front of people. But with Sansa, he would never lay a hand on her, but would have others do so.

Hearing Joffrey speak of killing their traitor of an Uncle, she could feel the ghost of his hands every time he decided to have her. She could feel the stickiness of his seed every time he withdrew from her.

She wanted to puke.

Her Uncle Tyrion brought a book to Joffrey. A book with wonderful binding, and the lettering of the title caught her eye. Lives of Four Kings, Y/n smiled a little, before seeing Joffrey leaf through it with no interest. Feigning it for the people around him.

Lucia’s head moved on Y/n’s chest, catching the princess’ attention. Lucia’s small whines made Y/n sigh as she saw Lucia trying to get comfortable in the stale position her mother kept while at Joffrey’s side.

Y/n moved Luci so she was being cradled in Y/n’s arms. The toddler calmed down and looked around the room curiously.

“And what is this, Uncle?” Joffrey asked.

“Grand Maester Kaeth’s history of the reigns of Daeron the Young Dragon, Baelor the Blessed, Aegon the Unworthy, and Daeron the Good.” Tyrion answered.

“A book every king should read.” Y/n interjected, grabbing her brother’s arm gently, he looked down to Y/n, a scowl on his face before he looked back at the book.

“My father had no time for books.” Joffrey pushed the tome across the table. “If you read less, Uncle Imp, perhaps Lady Sansa would have a baby in her belly by now.” he laughed, sitting back in his seat, resting a firm hand on Y/n’s thigh. An almost bruising grip. Y/n shifted Lucia’s small frame away from Joffrey’s assertive hand. And before Y/n knew it, Sansa was reaching over, taking Lucia from her, and holding her in her own lap.

Y/n shot Sansa a thankful look, before forcing herself to take Joffrey’s hand in her own.

Joffrey and the court’s laughter died down before Joffrey continued to speak.

“Don’t be sad, Sansa, once I’ve gotten Queen Margaery with child I’ll visit your bedchamber and show my little uncle how it’s done.

Y/n saw Sansa turn red. Y/n gave Joffrey a look, his only response, was a subtle wink. She shook her head.

But things became quiet when Mace came forward to present his gift. A golden goblet with seven faces to represent each of kingdoms, and a stone for each of the great houses of those kingdoms.

Lord Tywin went last. And he came to the table with a longsword. With a scabbard of cherry wood, gold and oiled red leather. Studded with golden lion heads.

The room fell silent as Joffrey unsheathed the sword, and exposed the blade. A black and red marbled blade. Valyrian steel.

The men in the room were quick to comment on it, saying their praises for the gift that had been given to Joffrey.

Joffrey looked violently excited as he swung the sword in the air, with no apparent target to hit.

Y/n could only stare, zoning out on the sword’s material. Watching as the ripples of red and

black caught the light, showing off its brilliance to the bystanders. 

But she was snapped out of it when Joffrey took a swing to the old tome, the loud thud of

the blade slicing right through the leather bound front and stopping after a few pages. Joffrey kept going, swinging at the defenseless book he could have just given to Maester Pycelle to keep in his store.

Lucia’s tears began to stream down her cheeks from the sudden noise and the anxiety that

the flying pages were giving her. Sansa was instantly trying to calm her down, knowing what Joffrey would say to Sansa. Or to Y/n.

Y/n stood instantly, taking a step back and looking at the pages slowly swaying to the ground with every swing. FInally the loudest thud of all, the sword fully slicing through and hitting the mahogany wood table.

Joffrey was breathless by the end of it, and effortlessly, he shoved a chunk of the tome off of the table with the tip of the sword, still having Y/n in shock.

“I pray you never turn that wicked edge of my, sire” Osmund Kettleblack shouted.

Y/n looked to Miza, and saw her shocked expression, and Oberyn’s look of hatred to the king, as well as the look of pity Ellaria gave Y/n.

She then looked to Sansa, who was caught up in drying Luci’s tears with the very tip of her dagged sleeve.

“See that you never give me cause, ser” Joffrey responded, sliding his new sword back into its scabbard.

Y/n looked to her brother in law, Garlan Tyrell. And saw him giving her a look of pity as well, before he turned to Joffrey to explain to the boy king that, it had been one of only four copies.

Tywin, gave Y/n a knowing look, a small smirk on his face. As he tapped his index finger on his belt, where there was a lion head. Y/n knew what he was saying. But she didn’t agree with his methods of trying to prove a point.

Joffrey only had to respond with “Now there are three.” As he undid his old swordbelt and replaced it with the cherry red one.

“You and Lady Sansa owe me a better present, Uncle Imp. This one is all chopped to pieces.”

Y/n saw her uncle’s mismatched eyes observing his nephew. “Perhaps a knife, sire. To match your sword. A dagger of the same fine Valyrian steel… with a dragonbone hilt, say?”

Joff gave Tyrion a sharp look. “You… yes, a dagger to match my sword, good.” He nodded “A… gold hilt with rubies in it. Dragonbone is too plain.”

“As you wish Your Grace.”

Y/n shook her head before huffing and angrily pushing her chair in. She helped Sansa up and gestured for her to go to the door, but she felt Joffrey’s firm, uncalloused hand grab her wrist and pulled her close enough to him that their chests were flush together, and their faces only a few inches apart. “Where are you going?” He demanded.

“Get off of me!” Y/n growled, and with her free hand tried to push him away by the chest, but he grabbed her other one and held both securely in the other as well.

“Where are you going.” He was more assertive this time, acting as though they were alone, and not as if, their family surrounded them. That his future queen’s family stood before them.

“Away from your childish behavior.” She challenged, smirking up at him.

“My childish behavior? Do you want me to tell them what you like when bedded?” He boasted in a whisper so only she could hear him.

Y/n only rolled her eyes and bit her tongue. “How would you know, brother? I thought you were still pure? That you hadn’t yet been with a woman?”

Joffrey’s eyes were filled with anger at that, and his grip loosened. Y/n took her chance, pulling out from his grasp and walking away, picking up her skirts in the process, beckoning for Sansa to follow, who did happily, but nervously. Her grip on Lucia tightening as she walked with the still crying toddler in her arms.

Miza stood after they left, and excused herself to leave. And quickly followed Y/n and Sansa.

“Sansa!” Miza shouted, running down the hall, holding her own skirts as she chased the two down. Once she finally caught up she told Sansa, “take Luci to the nursemaids, they’re in Y/n’s bedchambers.” Sansa nodded and turned to go to the princess’ bedchambers.

Miza gave Y/n a look. “Do you know what he’ll do to you? After the breakfast? After he goes back to his chambers?” Miza hissed, pulling Y/n into a cave in where a window was placed.

“How much worse could it possibly be? I’m already heading there anyway. I might as well be prepared for his majesty’s wrath.” Y/n sassed.

Miza shook her head. “He holds back with you, you know that? But now? Now you’ve made him beyond angry. He’s going to hurt you, Y/n. And not like the scar you bare on your breast. What he will do, you feel for the rest of your life.”

Y/n shook her head, and could feel tears welling up in her eyes. “He’s already done that. At times I can’t even sleep in my own bed, Miza. Because I can still feel him. Every day. Inside of me. The feeling of his hands cupping my stomach when I was pregnant with the twins. I can still feel him holding me down. I already know, Miza. And I’m willing to accept my fate.” But Y/n knew that Joff wouldn’t live to tomorrow. No. They’d be investigating his body. They’d be searching for traces of poison. And they’d find it. And Sansa will be far away. Safe from Joffrey.


	12. Chapter 12

It had been a lie. Y/n didn’t go to the king’s chambers. She went to her own. She didn’t owe him anything, and if she was being quite honest, she was able to look back on it. All of it.

Upon arriving to her chambers she didn’t see the nursemaids or Sansa, or the three children Y/n bore. They must have gone to get ready for the ceremony.

Joffrey had always been cruel. He had been born that way. He’s never been kind. And he had been spoiled beyond all belief. Always complaining when he didn’t get exactly what he wanted when he wanted it.

Joffrey didn’t love her. He didn’t know what love was. And if she was being honest, she didn’t know if she knew either. But she knew that what Joffrey showed her wasn’t love.

Willas only did what was required of them. He helped her care for the children while she was in High Garden, but he didn’t love her. They didn’t know each other.

Jon… She was convinced that he had loved her, and she often wondered if he still did. If he still thought of her like she thought of him. She didn’t miss just the physicalness of their relationship. Yes, He had been the best man she’d been with. And she’d choose a night with him over Joffrey or Willas.

She missed the way he made her feel safe. Just being in his presence she felt safe. And she’d never felt that way before, and she hadn’t felt that after. Even almost two years on.

She was certain she felt love with him. That his smiles held love for her. And that his words to her. “I love you” A sentiment she had never been able to return. In that moment she made a promise to herself.

If she ever saw Jon Snow again, she’d tell him how she had felt.

She let the gown slip from her shoulders as she unlaced it, letting it fall to the stone floor. She reached for the green gown that was draped over the back of her chair, but she heard the door slam open, and Joffrey come storming in, throwing the squeaking door closed. He came at her, and her hand found the crystal knife that was on the desk. She pointed the dagger at him, and he came to a halt.

“You would dare threaten your king?” He challenged, fists clenched anger boiling inside of him, watching her keep her poker face before she held the knife up to her own throat.

“I wouldn’t dare, Your Grace. But don’t doubt me, your dear sister. I will cut my own throat, and you will never lay a hand on me again.”

He took a few steps closer, hand reaching for the dagger she held to her neck. But she placed her forearm on his chest and turned to slam him into the stone wall, holding the knife up to his throat.

“Actually… on second thought, I would.”

Joffrey stared at her in fear. “You’re going to leave, and you’re not going to say a single thing about what has happened here. Is that understood?”

Joff nodded eagerly, and at that she stepped back. He shoved past her and ran to the door, leaving he to the stone and furniture around her.

She smiled and set the dagger down on the desk as she began to dress herself in the dark green bodice, but seafoam green skirt. She let her hair down. It wasn’t long until Miza had come in, holding a bracelet. “Give me your arm.”

Y/n held up her right hand and Miza approached, unclasping the red velvet bracelet and putting it on Y/n. “Never take this off. Ever.” Miza spoke firmly before she left suddenly.

It caught Y/n off guard, but she looked at the bracelet that had been placed on her wrist. She had an eerie feeling just by looking at it. Like it had something to do with her. That it was a symbol.

•••

The wedding went off without a hitch, and all Y/n could think was that Joffrey was a fool. He wanted the twins at the feast. They should be in their cots, fast asleep, and far away from the noise of music, and laughing, and dancing. They’d be in a fuss for the entire feast, and Cerelle would be sobbing by the end of it, at the sight of her father dead on the ground. Tybolt would be the same. And Lucia would be even worse than Cerelle.

But it was all falling into place. Olenna fiddled with Sansa’s hair, tucking strands back into her hair net, a way to get a stone from the young girl. “Uncle.” She greeted, looking down at the scarred imp, as he stood next to his wife.

“My dear niece. Do tell, how are the twins?” He questioned smirking up at her. He thought it got to her. It didn’t. She was often sickened by the fact that Joffrey had been the one to put them in her belly, but she loved them as much as she loved Lucia.

“They’re fine, with their nurse maids. Tybolt is getting healthier.” She responded. Tybolt had begun eating more, and slowly began to move more and had learned how to cry to signal to his young mother that he needed something. Just like Cerelle did, and just as Lucia still sometimes did.

“That’s good to hear.” He nodded, before Y/n turned to Sansa after Olenna stepped back to stand with Y/n.

“Sansa, how are you? After what Joffrey said to you?”

Sansa shifted and forced a sad smile to Y/n. “I’m alright princess. My Lord husband is kind, and gives me comfort.”

That was a lie. Tyrion was never one to give comfort. “Is that so? I’m glad. My uncle isn’t handsome, all of Westeros knows it. But he can have a good heart when it suits him.”

Tyrion snorted and nodded. “And right now, I choose not to, I shall fetch myself some wine.” Tyrion walked away, leaving Olenna, Y/n and Sansa alone.

“He… Speaks of you as though you aren’t related.” Sansa began. “A few nights ago I asked him how he felt about you, as he never spoke much of you. And all he said was that you were kind.”

Y/n nodded and made eye contact with the blue eyed thirteen year old. “He wishes we weren’t. He believes me to be more clever than he. He knows I’m stronger. And he’s jealous that a little girl, years younger than him, can outwit him, and his father. And Lord Varys. Perhaps even that little wretch, Littlefinger.”

Sansa cracked a genuine smile. “Perhaps you are more gallant than any man here.” Sansa spoke. “Though I suppose gallant is only used for a man.”

“What do you mean, dear girl?” Y/n questioned, hands clasped in front of her, hearing Miza speaking to Lucia as though she could fully understand what she was saying.

“Lord Varys is the Master of Whispers. And Littlefinger… Plays games. And your grandfather… All of Westeros is afraid of him, and you speak as though you don’t care for him.”

Y/n smiled and stepped forward, grabbing Sansa’s forearm. “To succeed in the world of men, you must forget all the relations you have to them. Whether they are your grandfather, father, brother, or the man who gave you children. Varys is terrified of me. And Littlefinger. Only knows a few things about me. He can’t play his wicked little games with me. And my grandfather, well,” Y/n chuckled “I am younger, I still have my looks, and no one would ever suspect a young girl to know how to use a sword. Or how to make an entire country afraid, but not hateful.”

Sansa looked down at her curiously. “Why is Lord Varys afraid of you?” She questioned.

“I may or may not have threatened him through one of his little birds.”

Sansa smiled and laughed a genuine laugh, as they went to their seats. Joffrey had Jayde, Tybolt’s nursemaid, sit next to him so he could be near his son. But Cerelle was shunned, her nursemaid sent to sit at the very edge of the throne room with lower nobles, and she hadn’t been allowed to sit with Y/n, or even Miza, who sat with her father.

Miza had passed Lucia back over to Y/n, letting Lucia be with her mother, which was all she seemed to want right then. And Lucia’s pale green blanket had been wrapped around her, keeping her warm, and comfy, leading the toddler so close to sleep.

It took an hour, but Olenna came walking past, and slipped the gem into her hand. A dark purple, almost black. It would dissolve in Joffrey’s wine, and would be untraceable. It would take a moment to set in according to Olenna, but it would work faster than an hour, depending on the person.

But until it was the right time, Y/n occupied herself with comforting Lucia, rocking her gently and playing with her fat dark brown curls. Stroking her tan cheek lovingly, counting the freckles that had appeared on her skin since her birth. But it was uncountable. She was as freckled as Y/n. And her grey eyes were as dark as Jon’s. Verging on black at times.

Y/n only fully got her attention caught on something when she heard a pig squealing, which made Cerelle begin crying from across the room. Tybolt remained quiet, but Luci fussed,

Looking to the center of the floor she saw men, with the same problem as her uncle, riding around on pigs and sows. She gasped when one of the dwarf’s lances beheaded another. Blood splattered onto Lord Gyles. Women shrieked and children gasped in fear, but the lord lifted the broken helm, and pulled out a dripping red melon, at which point, the dawrf stuck his head out from the armor he’d been hiding in, still on the pig.

The dwarfs were pretending to be one of the five kings. Robb Stark, Joffrey Baratheon, Stannis Baratheon, Renly Baratheon, and the Kraken king.

One of the dwarfs were thrown from their dog ran to one of the sows, mounting them. She ignored them, trying to calm down Luci’s fussiness. Not wanting Joffrey to give her that look. The look that told her to make Lucia to quiet down.

But looking to Sansa she saw her solemn look, watching the dwarf who pretended to be her oldest brother.

This was a cruel thing to put her through. And upon looking upon ‘Renly’ Y/n felt a pang of sadness. Knowing that she’d never see her beloved uncle ever again. That he’d died at the hands of a shadow.

She didn’t hear anything, but she stood and walked to Joffrey, carrying Lucia with her. “May I get you more wine, Your Grace?” She inquired. Joffrey looked up to his sister, and held up his goblet, letting her take it to get more wine. Once she had it filled by a cupbearer she dropped the stone in at the table.

It was as though this was casual, she wasn’t afraid, laying a kiss on Lucia’s head she walked back to Joffrey, giving him the goblet of wine, and heading to Miza.

She took the empty seat beside her. “Your uncle is a fool.” Miza grumbled, watching as Tyrion blew a kiss to Y/n’s mother upon seeing her look of anger.

“In attitude? Yes. But in knowledge, he stomps on most of us.” Y/n whispered watching as two men of the Kingsguard helped Joffrey down from the dias, the goblet in his hands as he stormed to their uncle. The one she’d refilled, But that one had been drank, she’d seen him have this one refilled.

“Did he challenge Joff’s authority?” Y/n questioned, an amused smile on her face. Miza giggled and nodded.

Y/n’s mouth was agape when Joffrey dumped the red wine on top of their uncle’s head. “That’s new.” She’d never seen someone do that before.

“How do you like that Imp?” Joff mocked.

Y/n held Lucia to her chest as Tyrion rubbed at his eyes. Y/n and Garlan shared a look. “That was ill done, Your Grace.” He told the king quietly.

“Not at all, Ser Garlan” Tyrion corrected. “Not every king would think to honor a humble subject by serving him from his own royal chalice. A pity the wine spilled.”

“It didn’t spill.” Joffrey was graceless about it. Not seeing the retreat from the situation Tyrion had given him. “And I wasn’t serving you, either.”

Queen Margaery appeared at Joff’s side. Grasping as his elbow. “My sweet king,” She entreated, “come, return to your place, there’s another singer waiting.”

“Alaric of Eysen,” Said Lady Olenna.”I do hope he plays “The Rains of Castamere.’ It has been an hour, I’ve forgotten the words.”

Y/n snorted a laugh from that. Almost every singer had done it, and the sarcasm was welcoming to the young princess.

“Ser Addam has a toast he wants to make as well.” Said Margaery. “Your Grace, please.”

“I have no wine. I have drank the goblet my sweet sister gave me, and I dumped the rest on my pitiful uncle. How can I drink a toast if I have no wine? Uncle Imp, you can serve me. Since you won’t joust, you’ll be my cupbearer.”

“I would be most honored”

“It’s not meant to be an honor!” Joffrey spat, childishly.

Y/n leaned over to Miza, “What do you want to bet, he’ll choke on his wine?” Miza looked at Y/n worried.

“Are you going to win that bet?” Miza pried.

“Just like every other.”

“Fill it with wine!” Joffrey yelled at their uncle, watching as Tyrion fetched the chalice from under a table. Tyrion claimed a flagon of wine from a serving girl and filled the cup with wine.

“No, on your knees, dwarf.”

Tyrion knelt in front of Joffrey, and Y/n was bouncing her knee in anticipation, waiting to watch Joffrey choke.

Joffrey took the chalice with one hand, and took a large drink from it before setting it on a table “You can get up now, Uncle.”

“Your Grace” Lord Tywin started loudly. “They are bringing in the pie. Your sword is needed.”

“The pie?” Joffrey smiled and grabbed Margaery’s hand. “Come, my lady, its the pie.”

Everyone stood, including Y/n, holding Lucia against her hip. A hand on her bottom to keep her up and one on her back securely.

Joffrey drew his sword once they met the pie at the bottom of the dias but Margaery stopped him “Widow’s Wail was not meant for slicing pies.”

“True.” Joffrey spoke. “Ser Ilyn! Your sword!”

When Ser Ilyn drew his sword from his back, Y/n recognized it immediately. Ned’s. Y/n gripped onto Lucia tighter. Was this what Ned Stark’s sword reduced to? Cutting pies? Subconsciously she began to take long strides to the knight, but Oberyn Martell grabbed Y/n’s arm. “It’s not worth it, Princess.” He soothed, pulling her back next to Miza. He was right of course. But that didn’t stop the anger from rising in her chest.

But it wasn’t quiet Ned’s. It was the hilt. But the silverness of the steel wasn’t Valyrian. She put it together. Joff’s sword had been forged from Ned’s Valyrian sword.

Damn you Tyrion. She thought. Why couldn’t you send it back to Robb?

They cut the pie to Y/n’s disgust. She watched them. Watched as Joffrey tortured Tyrion with being his cupbearer, and talking about how dry the pie was.

When he began to cough however, Y/n felt the corners of her lips turn up into a smile. But she heard a smaller cough as well, The cough of a babe.

Joffrey’s chalice slipped from his hand and red wine went running across the dias.

“He’s choking,” Margaery gasped.

“Help the poor boy!” Olenna screeched, but the sound of Jayde calling for Y/n had her running to the nursemaid. The small coughing of a babe becoming louder as she approached.

The realization hit her. Joffrey had given wine to Tybolt. When Y/n had gotten close to Garlan, she passed Lucia to him and ran to Jayde, the sight of Tybolt Y/n was disconnected from what was happening to Joffrey, no one but Jayde and the few people around her noticed the child choking alongside his father.

Tybolt sucked in a wheezed before no sound came from him. Y/n had reached them, she saw her only son’s face turning a dark purple.

“Tybolt!” She shouted, pulling him from Jayde’s arms and into her own, Garlen rushed to the princess’ side, gasping at the color of the pale child’s skin. His eyes, like Joffrey’s going bloodshot from lack of air he was getting.

She didn’t even notice she was sobbing until Garlen and his wife were on the floor with her, Leonette, his wife, cradling Y/n in her arms as Tybolt stopped breathing. There was nothing she could do. She couldn’t stop it.

Lucia reached for her mother but Miza ran over taking her from Garlen and passing her to Oberyn and Ellaria who had been hot on her trail when she ran after the princess.

“Gods.” Miza breathed, seeing the babe’s purple cheeks, and the dead eyes that were still open.

“My son-” Y/n sobbed, cradling his empty frame to her chest. This wasn’t fair. The death of a father, shouldn’t ever mean the matching death of his son. A son so young. Miza looked to Garlen and Leonette, before she cupped Y/n’s cheeks and made the sobbing girl look up at her.

“I am so sorry, Y/n. “He’s gone.” Y/n shook her head out of Miza’s hands, rocking herself back and forth, holding her son tightly.

She was ignoring everything around her. But when her grandfather approached, his face paled realizing that not only had Joffrey choked, but so had the infant son of the king and princess.

“Y/n. Unhand him.” Tywin knelt in front of Y/n, gently grabbing onto his granddaughter’s arms to take to boy from her.

“No!” That caught Cersei’s attention, She sat in a pool of red wine, her own son’s body limp on the ground. Tywin having convinced her to let Joffrey’s body onto the ground.

Cersei saw her daughter’s tears when she looked up at Tywin. “He’s not dead. He can’t be!” Y/n shook her head looking down at her son as Tywin pried the boy from her arms.

Miza and Leonette pulled Y/n back into both of their arms. Ellaria kneeling next to Y/n brushing her hair back in a soothing motion while she sobbed into Miza’s shoulder.

Tywin carried his great-grandson’s corpse to Joffrey’s. Laying the infant next to his father. The gold blanket he was wrapped in gently becoming soaked in red.

“I want my son!” Y/n yelled trying to push away from Miza, but she wouldn’t let her. She and Leonette held her tightly, and the only thing keeping her from jerking away was Ellaria’s hands in her hair.

“He’s gone, princess. You know he is.”


	13. Chapter 13

She was out of tears. Too dehydrated to cry anymore. Leonette felt bad for Y/n, and she, along with Miza helped Y/n everyday. Ellaria, when she had free time would as well.

Cerelle was always crying. The sudden departure of her twin brother had the infant in deep despair. Y/n wondered if she knew. If it had been an instinct for a twin to know.

She couldn’t look at her youngest daughter. She felt responsible for her son’s death. If everyone knew, they’d agree. She killed not only a king, but the king’s first born son. THe king’s only son.

Ellaria had taken time from her day to be with Leonette and Miza, to help Y/n get ready. A black gown that looked strange on her. Black rarely suited her, only when it had accents of gold or red. But she refused to wear anything else. Only black.

Miza had laced up Y/n’s corset and dress, and had done her hair to fit under a velvet veil that covered her hair. Connected to the myrish hood she wore on her head.

Ellaria had chosen the dress and the shoes. And when they had gotten Y/n ready, she’d taken Lucia from Leonette and left without a word.

Sansa was safe, long gone from King’s Landing. Cersei wouldn’t ever get her hands on the Stark girl. But Lucia had been more fussy since Sansa disappeared and Tybolt died. Only calming down when held by Y/n.

That was the only bright side in this whole mess. Sansa was safe.

The sept was quiet, other than Cersei’s sniffing. Tybolt had been sealed away in the crypts already. This was for Joffrey. And Y/n was glad that they had him in a suit of armour, with the helm’s visor closed. She didn’t want to see his face.

Lucia had her arms wrapped around Y/n’s shoulders, and Y/n held her close. Scared that someone would take Luci away from her. She wouldn’t let that happen.

But Y/n had a question for her mother. It was the only reason she came to the sept today. SHe didn’t want to be here. Near him.

“Mother,” Y/n began “did you know?” It had been an accusatory tone, but she didn’t care. She needed to hear her mother say it.

“Did I know what?” Cersei was going to deny it.

“What Joffrey did to me.”

Cersei stayed quiet. “Did you know he got me pregnant? With Cerelle and Tybolt? That he forced himself on me? That I carry a scar on my breast from when he found the dagger Uncle Tyrion gifted to me under my pillow while he was raping me? Did you know he forced me to have his children? I drank moon tea every day he visited my chambers, and he told me if I didn’t stop that he would hurt Miza. Did you know the scar on my lip is from him hitting me with the hand he wore his ring on?”

Cersei still remained quiet, her cheeks turning pink from trying to keep her tears in. “Yes.” She answered, looking up at Y/n, a look of guilt plastered on her face “I knew what he was doing. I wanted to stop him, I told him-”

“You knew? And you couldn’t send me to Casterly Rock? Or let me stay in Highgarden? Or send me somewhere where he couldn’t lay a hand on me?”

Cersei was at a loss for words. “I can still feel him. Because of what he’s done to me, I can barely remember my time with Luci’s father. I can barely imagine his face anymore. I only know he had tan skin, dark and eyes because he gave those to Lucia. But I will always remember Joffrey. Even in my old age, even when I have Willas’ sons, I will still feel Joffrey. I will feel his hands creeping over my body, him moving inside of me. I should have never felt my brother in such an intimate way. My brother should have never seen my naked. He should have never seen me swollen his children. You know that.”

Cersei’s tears finally fell down her cheeks. “Little Lion, I am so sorry-”

“I believe you. But I can’t forgive you. Ever.” Y/n hefted Luci up before she went to leave the sept, a hand holding the back of her head as she was met with sunlight.

A man, covered in muck, and a missing hand came up the steps, but he stopped and stared Y/n, while she barely took note of him, trying to get back to the castle. She only realized he was there when he grabbed her upper arm with the hand that still remained. His hand was gentle as he caught her attention.

When Y/n looked up she recognized him instantly. Green eyes, like Joffrey’s, like her own, staring back at her. They were once full of spirit, and sureness. Now they were searching for something. And Y/n didn’t know what.

He looked older, age lines under his eyes made him look tired, and his face had become thin and slightly hollowed. The look of a man starved.

“Jaime?” Y/n questioned, he smiled a bit and nodded looking to the little girl the princess held.

“Who’s is that?” He questioned with a smile. Did he not know? Rumors spread like wildfire. Then again, barely anyone in the city realized she’d become a mother almost two years ago. SHe supposed only the nobles knew. And well, if Jaime had been held captive by the Starks, and out on his own for so long, he wouldn’t know.

“She’s mine.” Y/n responded firmly.

Luci lifted her head and looked at the stranger, a similar face to her mother’s, just more masculine. “Hi.” Lucia waved her small fist to Jaime, an iffy look on her face.

Jaime was taken aback. “You’re her mother?” He questioned only to get a nod from Y/n.

“She has a sister and a brother- Had, a brother.” Y/n became quiet upset again as tears began to well up in her eyes. “Mother’s inside, I must go.” She rushed, shrugging her arm out of Jaime’s grasp “I’m glad You’re alive, uncle.” She spoke while rushing down the stairs, placing a fearful kiss on Lucia’s head as she reached the carriage and got in, wanting to be back already.

A knock sounded on the door. “Come in!” Y/n shouted, looking to Lucia as she played with her toys. The words she wrote on her parchment felt useless, what was the point? The people who Tommen chose to judge Tyrion would all agree he was guilty. He’d served Joffrey wine. He appeared guilty.

Joffrey pointed at him. Everyone would see that as him pointing to his killer. But the king’s killer, had been holding her son, crying and not wanting him to die.

The door squeaked on its hinges as someone opened. Turning to look, Jaime came in, cleaned, and dressed properly.

Y/n stood upon seeing him, She was on edge. His face looked like Joffrey’s. But she knew it wasn’t him.

“Did I scare you? I’m sorry if I did.” He said, closing the door behind him and looking at Lucia who continued to play, before he looked at the bed to see Cerelle sleeping soundly on Y/n’s pillows, both the blankets Tywin gifted to the twins wrapped around her lazily from when she had gotten herself settled in.

“You’re fine. I don’t mean to be rude, but why are you here? I would think that you’d be with my mother. Or grandfather. Possibly visiting Tyrion in the black cells.” Y/n felt guilty, she never wanted Tyrion to get pegged for it. It wasn’t his fault that Cersei hated him.

“I already did. All of them. But I wanted to see you.”

Y/n furrowed her brows and gestured to the bench that was at the end of the bed, silently asking him to take a seat. Jaime took his seat, and so did she, sitting back onto her chair, but turning it to face him.

Once they were both seated, Jaime stared at Lucia for a few silent moments, watching the child as she made herself giggle with the toys that they had slowly collected for her and her siblings.

“I remember when you were smaller than that.” He spoke quietly, a small smile coming onto his face. “The day you were born, your mother let me hold you. She handed you to me, and you were so small I thought I would hurt you. You kept making this noise, like you were annoyed with everything… but you opened your eyes and we made eye contact, you smiled at me, and I don’t think I’ve ever been that happy since, not about anything.”

she smiled at the memory he shared with her. She looked to Luci who was lost in her own little world that she created with the carved wooden toys of knights and horses and princesses.

“Nothing in the world made sense before then. I wondered why I was put on this earth, and why the gods made me what I was. But then you were there, and I knew. Green eyes, pale skin and dimples everywhere. And your smile was contagious. You were the happiest baby I’d ever seen compared to your siblings.”

Y/n didn’t know why but she practically threw herself into Jaime’s arms, throwing him off guard as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He hesitated for a second before hugging her back. His one hand squeezing the back of her shoulder.

“You’re the best father I could’ve ever asked for.” She mumbled into his shoulder, He pulled back slightly, looking down at you confused.

“You know?”

“I should’ve seen it sooner. I shouldn’t have been told. I should’ve just known.” She told him. “The worst part is, I don’t even care. If anything I’m glad that you’re my father. I just wish I could’ve been raised knowing that.”

Jaime sighed and gave Y/n another smile before pulling her back in for a hug. They were silent after they both pulled away, just watching Lucia play. But Jaime broke the silence with a questioned she didn’t know he was going to ask.

“Who are their fathers? Just from being in this palace a day, I’ve heard different rumors.” He told her.

Y/n nodded. “The gossip is insidious. Lucia’s is not Robb Stark’s, it’s not Ned, that one disgusts me. Her father is Jon Snow. Ned’s bastard.”

Jaime looked at Y/n seriously. “His bastard? What was he, fourteen? You were a year younger?”

She nodded. “I didn’t think it would happen. But it did. And to think that I wanted to drink moon tea is unthinkable now that I have her. He doesn’t even know she exists. He has a right to know, but he can’t. Cerelle and my son, were twins. I’m sure you’ve heard those rumors.”

Jaime stayed quiet before he spoke again. “I’ve heard that they’re Joffrey’s. Please tell me that’s not true?”

“I didn’t want his children. I didn’t want him. He forced it. I still hate him. But gods, I loved our son. Tybolt was harmless. To crippled in any way imaginable to even hurt a fly. He couldn’t walk, or talk, or see, or hear. And I love Cerelle. She’s healthier than Tybolt. She’s starting to talk. And that hurts. Knowing that he never got the chance.”

Jaime stood, and rounded the bed to where Cerelle was sleeping, gently scooping her up and walking back, handing her to Y/n. “She doesn’t have gold hair.” He pointed out, trying to cheer you up.

In recent months Cerelle’s hair had begun to turn an orange hue. And in the last week, began to turn red. Like Sansa’s hair.

“She did when she was born.” Y/n started. “I like it. Though I don’t know where she gets it from. Her eyes are like grandfather’s. Pale green, with gold flecks.”

“Your… great, great, grandmother, Rohanne had red hair. My grandfather said that my mother looked like her. Minus the hair. But my mother was very short, and a very petite woman, like Rohanne was always described. You got that from them I suppose. And the red must have skipped a few generations.” Jaime joked moving a red curl that was in his granddaughter’s eyes.

Y/n looked up at Lucia and saw her close to the fire place, and a hand, stretched out to the flames that gave them warmth and “Luci!” Y/n shouted, standing quickly and rushing to her oldest. But before she could reach Lucia her hand was in the flames. “No!” Y/n screamed finally reaching Lucia, she wrapped her spare arm around her daughter’s chest and pulled her back.

Cerelle woke up crying and Jaime ran to them. Taking the screaming infant from his daughter as Y/n looked over Lucia. Who was screaming a line of ‘No’ at her mother as Y/n held her still looking over her hand.

“She’s not burned.” Y/n murmured in astonishment. “Why aren’t you burned?”


	14. Chapter 14

The morning sun shined down on them. Leonette and Y/n, and the daughters Y/n hugged tighter than she ever had before.

Cerelle slept peacefully in the bassinet she had brought out for her. And Lucia sat on the cobbled stone, playing with her dolls, while Leonette plucked away at the strings of her high harp while Y/n stitched the lion into the sleeve of her new gown. A gold gown, that was in the style of the reach, like most of her gowns recently. But with Lannister colors.

Y/n heard light foot steps coming towrds them. Leonette’s playing stops and she stood. “Your Grace.” She greeted.

Y/n looked up at her brother and smiled, her shoulders relaxing as she stood as well. “Brother, how is being king treating you?”

Tommen shrugged slightly “Well, I suppose.” He was a child still. Not yet eloquent with his language or formal with greetings.

But it was more than that. Tommen looked nervous. He fidgeted with his hands and his cheeks were red. He only got red when nervous or embarrassed.

“May we go for a walk?” He gestured to the gardens, his arm shaking as he held it out for Y/n to hook arms with.

“Lady Leonette, will you watch over Luci and Elle for me?”

Leonette nodded and smiled walking to the toddler and picking her up. “She and I will have a lovely time together. We can play and craft. Whichever she prefers.” She said as Lucia smiled when she was picking up giving Leonette an awkward hug arms wrapped around the lady’s neck.

“Good, we’ll be back.” Y/n smiled happily and waved to Lucia who waved back. Y/n and Tommen walked the cobblestone path through the garden. Y/n waiting for him to break the silence.

“I’ve been meaning to speak with you, but Mother has been…” He struggled for the words.

“Abrasive?” Y/n finished looking down at her brother. Tommen smiled and nodded. “She’s always been that way. Especially when one of her children is in a position of power.” Y/n told him.

“Is she that way with you?”

What a simple question, yet such a complicated answer. The answer was yes. But why? “Yes. But she’s since calmed down. I believe she’s afraid of me.”

“You could never-” Tommen started

“I challenge her power, Tommen. I’m second in line to be the Lady of Highgarden, and from how things are going, when mother passes, I’ll be the lady Casterly Rock as well. I married into the second richest family in the realm and was born into the richest. I have Grandfather’s favor, and she knows I’m far more clever than her or Grandfather.”

Tommen seemed taken back but he nodded. “She’ll be even more scared with what Grandfather and I have agreed on.” He admitted.

Y/n’s brows furrowed as they walked, “Why’s that?”

“We’ve decided that we would like you to be my regent until I come of age.”

Y/n stopped walking. Her arm falling from his as she stared at him incredulously. “What?” Tommen remained quiet and Y/n continued walking, head down as she continued to think. Tommen walked with her still, but Y/n came to a stop again. “Why?”

“I trust you more than anyone. Espesially after what you had done to Janos Slynt, after what he did.”

Y/n began to argue. “I did what was right-”

“Exactly. You didn’t see mother demanding the hand to send him so far away that he may as

well be dead.” Tommen cut her off, trying to argue with her about her own moral compass

“Mother doesn’t always do what’s right-”

“No one else did what you did. Only you would have the confidence to storm into Uncle Tyrion’s office chambers and demand something from him, and he listened.”

“Uncle Tyrion is also afraid of me.”

Tommen nodded and shrugged “Believe me sister, since a crown was placed on my head I’ve heard many rumors. And many of the women and men of the court are afraid of you.”

“What do you mean?”

Tommen gestured to the stone bench that was beside them, a quiet request for her to sit, so she did. Taking a hesitant seat on the stone seat. Her younger brother taking his seat next to her.

“They fear you. Your power, your reach. None of them can fathom how a 15 year old can scare the master of whispers into never reaching into her own personal circle. You scared Varys so much that he’s too terrified to even watch Miza, or that serving boy who’s always around Miza. They see you as a more dangerous version of grandfather. You never let people see your weaknesses. Until recently… of course. But… they love you. You’ve been kind to them before. You’ve never been cruel, and you’ve always done the right thing.”

Y/n didn’t agree. She wish she could go back and do the right thing in every situation she’d been in the last 2 years. She wished she had smothered Joffrey in his sleep and she desperately wished she could have stayed with Jon a little longer each night. She knew she could have never stayed with him forever, no matter how badly she wanted to. She couldn’t see his face anymore. All she ever saw was Willas or Joffrey.

She wished she could hold him to her again, and laugh with him while he made stupid jokes when he was half asleep. She wished she could play with his hair again, and start humming him to sleep like she used to toeverynight. His head against her chest and his cold hands beginning to get warm when they found their way under her back to be placed firmly between Y/n and the mattress. She missed the way he was so tender with her. Like he had never loved anyone before and he had to make things up along the way.

“the stories must have come for Littlefinger’s whores, in the brothels. Women love gossip.”

Tommen sighed and gave Y/n a look. “They love you, Y/n. They don’t love mother. They hate mother. They need someone to be in charge who they fear, and love. Someone who will teach me to be rule like you would.”

•••

The smell was foul. The stench of a cell that hadn’t been cleaned since the prisoner was

thrown into it.

Y/n held her dagged sleeve over her face, keeping the smell of her perfume close and the smell of her uncle far away.

They stayed in silence while Y/n stared at her uncle. Her scarred and misformed face staring back at her. Mismatched eyes locked with her emerald. And not in a comfortable way. He was scowling at her, without a word to be uttered as they stared.

“You’re a little snake, you know that?” He finally broke the silence, looking away. “And you always win at being petty. How is that?”

“Excuse me?” Y/n questioned, voice muffled by the black silk that covered her mouth and nose.

“I know you poisoned him. I’m not as foolish as all of them. Neither is Jaime. Even though he’s not as bright as Cersei or I. You kill a king you hated, the boy who raped you, beat you, forced you to have his children, killed a man you told him not to, threatened you, your children, and even your life, and you wear black for him? You’re the greatest pretender in all of Westeros. Not even Lann The Clever could have done it.” Tyrion seethed.

Now Y/n’s anger and grief was coming to the edge. The memories of Joffrey coming back to her. The way he stared at her as she laid in her birthing bed, and gave birth to their children, the way he hit her and shoved her, The sound of his voice when he ordered Ned to be killed. “I don’t wear black for the tyrant. I wear it for my son.”

Tyrion’s face softened when he heard that. “Tybolt? What happened?”

“Joffrey gave him some of the wine.” Y/n choked back a grief stricken sob as she looked away from him.

“My apologies… I know it wasn’t easy… With his-”

“Conditions?” Y/n finished. “When Joffrey found out… I think he blamed me.”

“That’s because he did. When the maester in Highgarden sent Cersei and father word of his health, you could hear Joffrey yelling from the courtyard.”

Y/n nodded and took a seat on a nearly broken stool. “Why is it that when a child is born disformed, the mother is always to blame? As if I asked for my son to be that way. As if I wished that upon him. If grandmother had lived long enough to see you grow… She would have been blamed for it.”

Tyrion hummed in agreement. “Yes… She would have…. You’re still a snake.”

Y/n chuckled a little at that. And pulled her sleeve away from her nose, her arm growing tired. She sat and looked at her lap. “If they find you guilty they’ll have you killed.” She whispered.

“Ah yes. What do you think it’ll be? Will I have to watch as gallows are built outside? Will they ring up a noose, or call in Sir Payne to do the job?”

“They won’t be able to. I do believe once you said going to the night’s watch meant you were practically killing yourself. And when Jaime asked you if were going, you said the whores would go wailing from Dorne to Casterly Rock.”

Tyrion sat up straight now, looking at Y/n in curiosity.

“I don’t think I could stand the cries of whores from south to north.”

Tyrion let a crooked smile come to his face, “Are you saying what I think you are?”

“I need to gain allies. Men who know how to keep their mouths shut. And who will be loyal no matter the consequences.” She told him

Tyrion nodded. “Try your father. He’d help. And perhaps Varys.”

“Varys? He’s scared of me, I don’t think I could stop him from running from me if I tried to speak with him.”

“Have the regent send him to your quarters. Surely he’ll have to listen to your mother, even though he hates her.”

“Me. I’ll have to ask for him. I’m… regent.” She corrected. Standing. “I’ll speak to him in the gardens, alone. And perhaps I’ll speak with Miza, and even Oberyn. Grandfather is in charge of the trial, And the Martells despise him for the order he gave to kill Elia Martell and her children.”

“Never thought you’d be regent. Is it terrible that in this moment I’m thankful for that order?”

Y/n’s eyes went wide as she looked at her uncle. “Yes.” She told him, turning to the door to walk away but something he said finally registered in her mind. She stopped herself from knocking on the door. Holding her fist from the door before the turned her head to look at him once again. “What do you mean by Joffrey threatened my life?”

Tyrion looked as though he’d just witnessed his closest friend be shot by a crossbow when his eyes softened she knew that it was something terrible that he had threatened. “You didn’t know?”

“What do you mean? What didn’t I know?”

Tyrion sighed and lowered his head. “He said that if you bore a child that could potentially be Willas’, he’d have you smothered in your sleep, and that no one would see Lucia again.”

Y/n’s heart dropped. The idea that if she had fallen pregnant with a child that could be Willas’ or Joffrey’s child she could have been killed, and Luci along with her. But it struck her again. The morning of Joffrey’s wedding day, her cycle had been weeks late.

“From what I’ve heard, you need to ask Varys about something he found in Joffrey’s chambers.”

Y/n stayed quiet, knocking on the wooden door to signal for the guards to open it so she could leave the black cell.

She heard the latch being undone and when the light came in through the opening of the doorway she had gone through the halls by pure muscle memory. Her feet carrying her to her mother’s location, in the Hand’s tower. Where she was no doubt yelling at Tywin for the decision he’d made.

Miza wouldn’t have done it. And none of the ladies who were in Y/n’s service would either. There was only one suspect.

Y/n didn’t have much upper body strength compared to the knights around the castle, but the adrenaline was pumping through her veins, and when two of the King’s guards tried to stop her from entering the room she heard her mother yelling in, she pushed them aside, barging into the room.

Cersei was stunned into silence, and Tywin looked at Y/n in curiosity at how the two women in his family were so fiercely angry.

“Why did you do it?” Y/n demanded, slamming the door shut in a guard’s face.

“What?” Cersei questioned her own anger for Tywin still brewing, the slurs and curses just on the tip of her tongue, and if they weren’t to be directed at Tywin, it would be to Y/n, if she was going to start a fight.

“Did you give me moon tea? Secretly?” Her chest was heaving, forcing her corset into her ribs while she stood straight.

Cersei didn’t answer, instead, placing her hands on her hips and glaring at Y/n and Tywin.

“How could you!” Y/n shouted. “I’m supposed to trust you! You’re supposed to be my mother! You betrayed me!”

Cersei shook her head “How did you even find out?!” She demanded.

“Tyrion told me what Joffrey said. And on his wedding day, My blood came. Far too late from when I expected it to be. And it was far heavier than it should have been. Tell me. Did you slip into my wine the night before?”

Cersei nodded. “Of course I did.”

“I was to have another child, Willas’ child, and you took that from me! From Willas!”

“You and I both know it was Joffrey’s-”

“No! It couldn’t have been! Don’t lie to me mother-”

“We don’t know whose it was going to be, because you’re a little whore!” Cersei realized what she said as soon as it slipped from her. And she saw how Y/n stayed with a straight face, while just two years ago she would have burst into tears, screaming and yelling.

“they never paid me.” Y/n shrugged with a smirk.

“Dear Gods.” Tywin grumbled, rubbing his temples with his eyes closed.

“Y/n, Little Lion, I didn’t mean it-”

“Yes, you did. You’ve thought about it, I can tell. But Luci was born out of pure, true love between her father and I. Cerelle and Tybolt were born out of Joffrey’s lust, and jealousy. I chose Jon, Joffrey forced himself on me, and you all told me to go with Willas. You must be the owner of a terrible brothel then mother, if you call me the whore. I didn’t sleep with My husband, brother and cousin in such short time periods of each other.”

Tywin’s eyes shot open as he looked to his daughter and granddaughter. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping Tommen the servents with the King’s Chambers? Telling them what to keep what to throw away before Tommen moves into the room?”

Y/n shrugged. “Mother, I’ll let you take charge of religious matters. But always remember, I am the regent. Do not challenge my authority.”


	15. Chapter 15

The sounds of birds chirping calmed Y/n and Lucia. Y/n hadn’t realized what being regent meant. She knew it was a new and heavy responsibility, She didn’t fully realize that she was practically queen for her brother, until he came of age.

Lucia was waddling her way around the cobbled stone of the gardens, her bare feet being warmed from the stones she let her feet touch. Her black dress had accents of silver, and it trailed an inch behind her while she went.

“Mama look!” Lucia cooed, pointing to a bird that sat on a stone wall, staring at Lucia, tilting it’s feathered head at the toddler.

Lucia’s vocabulary had been developing quickly, and she could, in a very large jumble of words, try to sing along with Y/n, and could imitate the tone of voice Y/n used with different people. She could understand simple conversations. Y/n hadn’t known much about children’s development before she had her own. And with one two year old and the younger child being one, it could be stressful trying to keep them under control.

Cerelle knew some words, but not many. She was a bit behind on development, but she was catching up. She knew ‘mama’ and yes or no. she knew how to vocalize her own excitement and anger. When Y/n asked her where Cerelle’s eyes where, Elle had pointed to her eyes. She was getting there.

“They’re pretty huh?” Y/n asked looking at the bird as well. With Joffrey gone, she had more time for her children. She could take them out to gardens and watch as Lucia grew into her face, and began to look more and more like Jon. She could watch as Cerelle grew to look more and more like Y/n.

“Yeah!” Lucia exclaimed, before turning and walking to Y/n, holding her arms up for Y/n to pick her up.

Once she was securely in her arms, none other than Varys walked into the garden, his eyes drifting to the regent and the infant.

“Your Highness.” He greeted, keeping his distance. The subconscious fear of the teenage girl grabbing him and throwing him into a wall like she had done to one of his spies was fresh in his mind.

“I don’t bite.” Y/n reminded him.

“No, but you do claw.” He reminded her, making a playful smile come to her features.

“When you’re born into a situation like my own, you learn you need to. Come, I must speak with you.” Lucia stared at the strange man, who she’d never seen before.

Varys nodded and followed Y/n deeper into the gardens. “What do you know about Daenerys Targaryen?”

“Plenty, Your Highness. She’s your age, married a dothraki warlord, they were to have a child, but when he fell ill, she sacrificed her unborn son for his life. He still died. She hatched three dragons on his pyre, and she’s currently trying to build an army, to try and retake the Iron Throne. Last I heard, she’s trying to take Meereen.”

Y/n hummed. “You and I both know my uncle will be found guilty. Unless he does a trial by combat, in which case it’s more up in the air than it is now. I need to get him out. I need you to get him on a ship Essos. To Daenerys Targaryen. We need to know if she’s a good leader, if she’s good enough for the realm, and if she is, then we fight for her, and with her.”

Varys nodded. “You’ve thought this out.” He said mostly to himself. “I’ll see what I can do.” He said before reaching into his pocket and handing Y/n a letter. “Read this carefully. This isn’t the only copy. They’re bound to find the other one sooner or later.” He told her, walking away. Y/n looked at the letter, the king’s seal broken. Y/n turned to watch Varys walk away for a moment before sitting on a bench, setting Luci down and handing her the doll she brought with her.

When Y/n unfolded the paper, her heart dropped.

As Joffrey Baratheon the first of my name, king of the Andals, The Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the realm, I have declared through this letter, that if I am to die without legitimate issue, I ask that my niece, Cerelle Waters, be legitimized through her mother’s name, as a Baratheon, and is made my heir to the throne after I am gone, and that her regent be her mother, Y/n of the houses Baratheon and Lannister. And that her hand be my mother, Cersei Lannister.

There were copies. In that moment, Y/n felt panic. She couldn’t let this happen. She couldn’t let her daughter become queen. Someone would find them and give them to Tywin or Cersei, and they would have it happen. Cerelle would be made a queen, at the age of one.

Y/n shook her head, shoving the letter into her pockets before grabbing Lucia and rushing back into the castle. She needed to get Tyrion out of King’s Landing, quickly, and when she did, she needed to send Cerelle with him. To keep her safe, To keep her away from everyone who would dig their claws into her back to try and manipulate her as she grew older.

She ran to her chambers, where Miza was with Cerelle. Her feet carried her as fast as they could, and Lucia telling her to stop wouldn’t register as she ran up flights of stairs, before getting to her hall, where the handmaiden was with the infant.

“Miza!” Y/n exclaimed, opening the door and setting Lucia down as soon as she closed the door. “Joffrey named Elle as his heir.” She was close to tears. She had lost her son, one of the worst pains she had ever experienced, she couldn’t lose her daughter to the throne.

“What?” Miza questioned turning to face Y/n, holding Cerelle, but dropping what she had been showing the infant.

Y/n approached Miza and took Cerelle from her. “He’s written letters, Varys said they were bound to get out, they speak of how he wanted for her to be legitimized through my name and made the queen after he is gone. He said the others would be out soon, I can’t let it happen. Miza, I can’t let my family dig their claws into her bag and control her like a puppet. We have to do something, please.” She pleaded, holding the back of Cerelle’s head securely, tears coming to her face.

Miza brought Y/n in for a hug. “I’ll figure something out. I promise you.” Miza told her.

•••

Y/n wore a gold breastplate of armour, that of a soldier. Basic, yet the pattern on her back was ornate, and simple at the same time.

The sleeves of her gown pooled around the vambraces she wore around her forearms, the black silk making the gold pop.

Her skirt of the dress dragged behind her as she made her way to the throne room where the trial would take place. “Y/n.” Jaime spoke running up next to Y/n, and slipping something into her hand.

Y/n looked down into her hand to see a key. “Trust me.” he spoke, before rushing away.

She slipped the key into her pocket and continued to walk to the throne room. And when she did she took her seat next to her grandfather and near Oberyn. Y/n looked to Miza who sat in the crowd, with Ellaria, Leonette, Garland,Cerelleand Lucia. Leonette held Cerelle and coed over her and spoke to Miza about how she loved Lucia’s gown. An ice white gown, with grey stitching and embroidery. Stark colors. Cerelle wore a crimson gown, with gold. Both were wearing their father’s colors. But to Y/n, Cerelle was wearing her house colors, not Joffrey’s.

But Lucia needed something to be close to Jon. And the closest she would get was the Stark colors.

The trial was long, and Shae’s words sent the lords and ladies into laughter. Oberyn had given a chuckle and Mace was struggling to keep it contained. But Y/n sat like a stone statue, like Tywin, her hand gripping the arm rests of the seat she sat in.

“My Lords!” Tyrion shouted. “Get this lying whore out of my sight.” He spoke gesturing to Shae who glared at Y/n’s uncle. “And you will get your confession.”

Y/n’s heart dropped slightly at this as she sat up straight in her seat. Y/n looked to the gold cloaks and waved them off to take Shae away from the room. They circled around her and escorted her out.

Whatever Cersei had promised her to give the false report of Y/n’s uncle, would be given to her, but by the time Shae’s next blood came, Cersei would have Shae entertaining the gold cloaks in their barracks.

“Guilty.” Tyrion said amused. “So guilty. Is that what you wanted to hear?” Y/n rolled her eyes at him before pinching her nose as she took in an angered breath.

“You admit you poisoned the king?” Oberyn questioned.

“Nothing of the sort,” Tyrion said. “Of Joffrey’s death, I am innocent. I am guilty of a more monstrous crime.” Tyrion took a forward step to Tywin.

“I was born. I lived. I am guilty of being a dwarf, I confess it. And no matter how many times my good father forgave me, I have persisted in my infamy.”

Y/n sighed in frustration, tilting her head to look at Miza who gave her a look. The look of equal frustration.

“This is folly, Tyrion.” Tywin declared. “Speak to the matter at hand. you are not on trial for being a dwarf.”

“That is where you err, my lord. I have been on trial for being a dwarf my entire life.”

“You have nothing to say in your defense?” Tywin demanded.

“Nothing but this: I did not do it. Yet now I wish I had.” Tyrion turned to face the hall. “I wish I had enough poison for you all. You make me sorry that i am not the monster you would have me be, yet there it is. I am innocent, But I will go no justice here. You leave me no choice but to appeal to the gods. I demand a trial by battle.”

“He’s lost it.” Y/n mumbled.

“Have you taken leave of your wits?” Tywin asked.

“No, I’ve found them. I demand trial by battle.”


	16. Chapter 16

“MIza, everything will be fine, Oberyn will be alright!” Y/n told Miza, who sat, slumped against her legs on the floor, her head on Y/n’s thigh and her arm covering her face while her free hand grasped at the skirt of the black dress Y/n wore. Miza’s sobs were loud and uneven, she was shaking.

“Your father is a strong man, he’ll be alright.” She spoke.

“Our fathers are different, Y/n! Jaime is a Lannister, he’s clever! The Martells- we never yield. Never!”

Y/n sighed and looked at her. She’d seen Jaime be clever at times, but he could be the stupidest Lannister Y/n ever met at times. “Miza, Have you ever truly met my father? He can be clever, but not on the scale of my grandfather.”

Miza cried the rest of the night, alternating between laying on the floor crying, or laying in the bed crying. Eventually she decided on the floor, a pillow and blanket with her while Y/n nonchalantly put Luia and Cerelle in bed, before going to change Herself.

“Get some sleep, You’ll see, tomorrow he’ll walk out of that fight alive, and my uncle will live to see another day.” She told her.

Y/n slept long that night, holding Cerelle against herr side, her head on her shoulder while Lucia claimed her spot on Y/n’s chest. She only awoke when the light of the stained glass window hit Y/n’s eyes. Sunrise always woke her without fail. But when she opened her eyes she saw Miza siting in the windowsill, with one of the doors of the window open allowing her to observe the bustling city.

Y/n should have a room in Maegor’s Holdfast. A castle within the castle. It’s where the King’s chambers had been, where they all had held out during the battle of the blackwater. But when she’d had come across this room with Renly as a child, she’d begged and pleaded to have this be her room. With a stained glass window of a dragon, and the large space had pulled her to it. And Renly pulled some strings to have Y/n be there. He had helped her with everything along with the maids.

Y/n sighed lightly gently pulling her arm from Cerelle’s small frame before holding onto Lucia as she sat up and got out of the bed.

They got ready in silence. Y/n dressing herself in a black gown with a black myrish hood once again. And she helped Miza dress in a black gown as well. It was a mandatory mourning period for the city. Most nobles were wearing black, and everyone in the castle wore black.

Once they had finished they left for the battle. Leaving the children behind with the nursemaids who had taken care of the twins. When Cerelle was a twin. The thought brought tears to Y/n’s eyes. The images flashing through her mind as she bit back tears and held arms with Miza as they went to find their seat, next to Tywin. There they found Oberyn drinking while he donned his armor.

“Should he be drinking?” Y/n questioned leaning over to speak to Jaime who sat on the other side of Tywin, next to Cersei. Jaime shrugged.

“Men have different ways of getting into the right mindset. Yours was always eating.” Jaime told her with a small smile. “If his is drinking, then yes.”

“I get the eating thing from you, Uncle.” Y/n gave a small bittersweet smile. She wished she could call him her father. It’s what he was. But it would expose them all as frauds. And Tywin’s legacy would be shown to be a lie. And Stannis would be the king.

Jaime shared the same smile and nodded sadly. Y/n wished she could read his mind. If he was thinking that he wished he could come out and claim her as his daughter. He’d never held any of her siblings, only her, because when he was around she gravitated to him, and her uncle Renly. As if her instincts told her that Jaime was her real father.

Tywin gestured his hand and the trumpets began, the high Septon shuffling forward with his absurdly expensive crystal crown adorned on his head. He gave his prayers to the gods, asking for the Father’s justice be served to whoever’s cause was just. He asked for the Warrior to help aid whichever fighter who was defending the true victim.

It shouldn’t be Tyrion who stood down there with Ellaria Sand and Oberyn Martell. It should be Y/n who stood down there with a person fighting for her. She was the murderer. Not Tyrion.

Ser Osmund Kettleblack bought the Mountain’s shield to him. An absurdly large thing for an absurdly large man.

Oberyn advanced first. When the men were ten yards apart Oberyn stopped. “Have they told you who I am?” He questioned.

“Some dead man,” Gregor responded trying to attack Oberyn who slid to the side, dodging the attack.

“I am Oberyn Martell, a prince of Dorne, Elia was my sister.”

“Who?” Gregor questioned.

Oberyn jabbed his spear forward, but Clegane brought his shield up and blocked the attack shoving it to the side. Oberyn spun away, untouched.

“Elia Martell, Princess of Dorne,” Oberyn hissed, venom laced in his voice. “You raped her, you murdered her, you killed her children!”

Attacks were made, and dodged. On both sides.

“You raped her, you murdered her, you killed her children!”

“Did you come here to fight or talk?”

“I came here to hear you confess,” Oberyn responded jabbing at Gergor’s belly to no avail.

Oberyn moved like a snake attacking such a large animal that when he moved back so quick, and gracefully, Gregor moved like how you expected a cow to move, taking large footsteps to turn. The thin eyeslit in his helm limiting his vision. Oberyn was using that to his advantage.

“You raped her, you murdered her, you killed her children.”

“He’s not a clever man,” Miza said quietly and sadly. “He’s toying with him.” Y/n pulled Miza’s seat closer to her own and wrapped an arm around Miza’s shoulders and held her hand. When she looked up, she saw Addam, standing by Ellaria and Tyrion, a cannister of wine in his hands. His hands bare, showing the red circle that was on his thumb. The one she’d seen at Sansa and Tyrion’s wedding. Had it been tattooed into his flesh? What was the point? What was it for?

That’s when Y/n looked to the crowd and saw Lady Olenna, and on the pale skin of her hands, right under the nail of her middle finger, on the right hand, there was a red circle. And when she looked to see one of Varys’ little birds, she saw what was a red circle on their wrist, right on the bone. Y/n leaned forward, only to see Jaime’s hand on the armrest of his chair, and right under the ring he wore, she saw a thin red line encircling his finger.

She was so distracted that she hadn’t noticed what happened until she heard Miza and Ellaria’s screaming.

She looked down to the battle to see Oberyn’s head smashed in. His teeth turned into smooth white splinters in his mouth, covered in his own blood. Miza fell from her chair, her wails being heard by the crowd. “Miza!” Y/n got down on the floor with Miza and pulled her into her arms. Holding her the same way Miza had for her when Tybolt had died. She shushed her and rocked her letting Miza’s tears soak into her dress and she let Miza practically sit in between her legs while she cried.

Y/n had put Miza back into her room. It wasn’t rare when they two shared a room. But Miza sleeping in there alone with the girls snuggled up next to her was rare. But Y/n left, and she found herself running through the halls of the castle trying to find Jaime or anyone who had one of those little circles who she knew. And when she came to a crossroads in the hall, Addam turned the corner. He gave her a curt, sorrowful nod and continued walking, but Y/n grabbed him by the back collar of his doublet and pulled him back.

“That wasn’t very ladylike.” He said amused by her actions.

“I’ve had three children out of wedlock, I know how to use a sword, I’ve threatened a king with my own dagger, I’m the definition of not very ladylike, so, you need to explain,” She began, grabbing his hand and pointing at the red circle “this.” She told him. “What is it? Some secret cult? I’ve seen up to thirty people in this castle with this circle. What is it?”

Addam’s face went from confusion to worry as he looked to down both ends of the hall. He grabbed her shoulder and guided her into an empty room where random things were stored, such as fabrics and broken furniture, a candle in there was already lit as he closed the door behind them. “Who told you?” He questioned.

“No one, I saw them. What are they?” She crossed her arms and looked at the red-haired man who stood above her.

“My lady, you have a circular birthmark on the back of your waist, this circle is for you.” He spoke, showing her the red circle. “I must go, but on the fortnight’s turn come back here, I will tell the rest. Ser Jaime Lannister is expecting my company back. He also wants you to know, you must help get the Imp to a ship to Pentos tonight. You will guide him to Lord Varys, and you will meet Ser Jaime at Tyrion’s cell during the hour of the bat.” With that Addam left the room, and left Y/n in the dim light of the damp room.

She was left with more questions than answers but she supposed she had to trust him on this. If Miza and her father had these circles, she supposed they trusted him, so she must trust him as well. And she listened to him. She met Jaime at the entrance to the black cells.

•••

She stood awkwardly for a half-hour, holding her silk skirt with care, following the lines of the gold detailing with her finger. But when she looked up, Jaime had been coming down the hall, before he met her there.

“You are one daring girl.” He spoke, gesturing for him to follow her.

“I don’t know what you mean?” She questioned following him down the long hallway, holding her skirt up to avoid the dirt sticky floor.

“You told Varys to arrange this breakout, did you feel guilty? For Tyrion getting in trouble for your crimes? I’m not judging you, I’m just curious.”

“I don’t feel guilty, I just have a moral compass.” She spoke with a chuckle as she grabbed the heavy iron ring that was put on a hook attached to the wall, all the keys attached.

“Be glad your compass isn’t like mine. Mine is like shooting an arrow in the dark while being drunk on ale.”

Y/n laughed as they reached Tyrion’s cell door. She handed the keys to Jaime and let him unlock the door, and waited for Tyrion to walk out. Which he did, and his look of surprise when he saw her was worth it.

“I know you said you wouldn’t let me rot in there, but after your handmaid’s father died for me, I doubted you come for me.” He spoke quietly.

Y/n scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself. He didn’t die for you. He died for Elia, and Princess Rhaenys, and Prince Aegon. Remember, he lost his family. A mother and her children were killed, he was trying to avenge their deaths. Never be grateful for the order that was given.” She scolded his past words and he nodded.

They continued to walk. “We have the Gaoler’s keys-”

“Good, give them to me, who am I going to?”

“Varys.” She spoke.

“I’ll find him on my own, I… Thank you both.” He spoke. Jaime handed Tyrion the keys and he began to walk away, and Jaime pulled Y/n into his side, a hand around her shoulders. Holding her like a daughter.

“Tyrion!” She exclaimed. Making him stop. He turned to look at her. A look of curiosity in his mismatched eyes.

She pulled herself from her father’s grasp and walked over to Tyrion. Reaching to her side and grabbing one of the daggers she owned that she’d strapped to her side. She owned three. One from Tyrion, One from Renly, and one that she assumed was given to her by Joffrey. She’d found it on her bed one day.

“Take this. You’ll need it.” She spoke holding it out to him.

“Y/n-”

“When you gave me my first dagger, you told me, that one day when I got my first sword, I would be able to add it to my collection of sharp objects. I doubt that day will ever come, and that day has never come for you, so take it. And add to the collection.”

Tyrion smiled at her and took it. “It’s finely made.” He observed. “Steel.” She told him. “Go, quick.”


End file.
